




















' -i . ■ 'i' ^ 

."H- ^ IL'-i ^ 


' 0 * )t ■* -A 


V' 






,0'O 


^'- »,V' • ''“' •->;* = < ..^,\. 



^ tf I 1 


'^1 ^ ^ 

iC ^. 





#: ' c®’"^>p ^ ^ ^ \ ' ii « ^ c ^ 0 ^ 

^ : xo o. : 


;0 o. 



X ' f . 




• 7 - > _ 






‘".'I'^^.'^p-, . 0 '^ s»\'" 



>• \i/ 

O'- o •»,%*" ' 

•5> ^ 0 '%'• V. ^ 








N 0 . - 


. \ "d, ' ^ ' \ 0^ < 0 ^ ^ '' 

c « -f iV o " ' * <f. c « ^ -p ^b 

» ^ O CN v'' ^ ^ ^ ’ 

. ^ : %. 

ft- 






s ^ n 



”- V, 

■'^cA.^'^' - 







o'?* .^' ‘ ♦ 


’ 00 '' 



a N 0 


^ <j> 

^ tTa * ' rr^ "° ^0 

,0^ “o V' J.V 

•»■ ’■jv^.fs^/i,”'' ■^' v. .^s^k " •>> a"* 

2^ > , Z 

o o 

- ^ A 

lO^ ^ ^ 0 „ V '*' .'\ 'o 




> ^ 




aa 


'I 

y ^ 

O S ,1 

^-Z^. “N \lfl, 

0 * n .0»‘ . « « -5^. A' 



c ° ^ ® ^ 

















y 




AGAINST THE WORLD. 


BY 


JEANETTE R. '^ADERMANN, 

AUTHOR OK ‘^FORGIVEN AT LAST,’* ^‘dHAD MEN’s SHOES,” ETC. 



BOSTON: 4 
SHEPARD AND GILL. 

1873. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 
By SHEPARD & GILL, 

In the OfEce of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


Stereotyped by C. J. Peters & Son, 
Boston, Mass. 


A MUCH-NEEDED PEEFAOE. 


Once upon a time I wrote a book, in which an angular 
old maid lived, moved, and had her acidulous being. 
Quoth the wise public, “The book is plainly autobio- 
graphical.’’ 

Once upon a time I wrote a magazine-story, wherein the 
ubiquitous Mrs. Grundy figured in character. “ That is 
my wife ! ” cried a vestry-man, whose existence until that 
moment had been an unrevealed fact ; and, in his wrath, 
dire and multifold were the threats hurled at my most inno- 
cent head. 

Once upon a time I wrote a newspaper-article, in which 
a certain well-defined marital proclivity “ to point the right, 
but still the wrong pursue,” was meekly commented upon. 
“ That’s me ! ” chorused a score or more of conscience- 
stricken Benedicts. And in my heart I blessed the social 
prejudices existing against that venerable institution, “ the 
ducking-stool.” 

And now I appeal to an impartial public. Is it my fault 


4 


PREFACE. 


if people will keep trying on my shoes, and crying out that 
they pinch ? 

I send this youngest-horn of my brain out against the 
world to plead for recognition as pure fiction. It is the 
child of my brain, begotten of fancy, nourished by imagi- 
nation. As such, I commend it to the tender mercies of 
my friends and those it may make for itself. 


THE AUTHOR. 


OOE'TEITTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. — 1825 7 

II. — 1850 15 

III. — A Triple Celebration 21 

IV. — Morning Reflections 29 

V. — A Nine-Days’ Wonder 38 

VI. — Stormy Interviews 41 

VII. — ARevery 50 

VIII. — Down on “ Le Noir ” 63 

IX. — A Handsome Animal , 61 

X. — Our Old Friends the Walworths 69 

XI. — Treats of Business-Matters 77 

XII. — “ The Whizzing Loom of Time ” 82 

XIII. — Miss Gaily 88 

XIV. — The Oaks 97 

XV. — An Evening in Dreamland 103 

XVI. —Miss Cally asks, but does not receive . . . . .115 

XVII. — More Heresy 124 

XVIII. —Is a Rambling One 133 

XIX. — In which a Proposition is made Good 139 

XX. — The Bar of Conscience 143 

XXI. — Esther is reminded of a Promise 149 

XXII. — Aunt Dinah’s Story 155 

XXIII. — Estella Somers ruminates 163 

XXIV. — An Alarm and a Surprise 168 


6 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

XXV. — A Chapter of Items 179 

XXVI. — Naming the Baby 186 

XXVII. — Conjugal Amenities 192 

XXVIII. — Mrs. Somers condescends 196 

XXIX. — Striking a Balance 204 

XXX. — Contains a Letter of Importance . . . . . 209 

XXXI. — An Embarrassing Situation ....... 216 

XXXII. — A Ride which terminated strangely 224 

XXXIII. — Face to Face 230 

XXXIV. — A Family Man 234 

XXXV. — Contains a Love-Letter 2.39 

XXXVI. — A Living Death 245 

XXXVII. — An Answer to an Answer 251 

XXXVIII.— Alfred learns the Truth 255 

XXXIX. — Animated Symbols 262 

XL. — Contains a Revelation 269 

XLI. — All a Mistake 275 

XLII. — To-morrow 280 

XLIII. — Fate’s Handmaiden ‘ . . . . 292 

XLIV. — Resolute Action 298 

XLV. — Murmuring Hearts .... f ... . 304 

XL VI. — A General Summary .309 

XLVII. — The Letter 313 

XLVIII. — In which Essie gives her Most Effective Reading . . . 318 

XLIX. — Inconsistent Conduct 325 

L. — The Reward of Patience 331 


AGAINST THE WOELD. 


CHAPTEK I. 

1825 . 

Married to-night ! ” 

It was a purely confidential communication, made by 
Miss Almira Stanley, the prettiest girl in all Chester, to the 
only safe confidante for any female, — her looking-glass. 

Not that it was much of a secret, after all ; for all Ches- 
ter knew it ; had known it, in fact, some time before Miss 
Stanley herself : and all Chester was to haste to the wed- 
ding that very night, that wonderful, wonderful night, — so 
wonderful, that Mira, the sweet bride-elect, seemed in a sort 
of daze about it ; for, after she had sent that whispered com- 
munication into the clear depths of her mirror, she drooped 
her pretty head upon a hand that held a flashing ring of 
promise, and dozed off into a day-dream. 

The last day-dream of Mira Stanley. And, while she 
dreams, let me sketch her for you as she sits before her 
Psyche-glass, the true and sympathetic friend that rejoiced 
in her joy, giving hack smile for smile, loving glance for 
loving glance, dimple for dimple. 

Almira Stanley was her name, — a stately and a dignified 
name, suggestive of stately and dignified folk who talk 
grandly on grand subjects, walk grandly as queens and em- 
presses walk (or should walk), whose heads have regal, 
poises,^’ and all that sort of thing. 

^Tis a pity her name should suggest such a variety of 
grand things ; for the regally inclined will be much disap- 

7 


8 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


pointed, and possibly a trifle disgusted, when they come to 
learn tliat Mira Stanley was a slight, graceful girl of me- 
dium height, whose beauty was compounded of bright eyes, 
laughter-loving lips, rippling brown hair, and a couple of 
the most delicious dimples that ever quickened the pulses 
of susceptible manhood. 

I don’t think she was fully conscious of her own attrac- 
tiveness ; had she been, her soliloquy would not have savored 
so of sweet humility. The great coming event would not 
have seemed to her so very wonderful. 

Married to-night ! She — insignificant, silly nobody, Mi- 
ra Stanley — about to become the wife of Philip Walworth, 
the handsomest, noblest, kingliest of mortals! What had 
he seen in her to select her from all the rest of womankind? 
For of course he could have married anybody he chose, — 
everybody, in fact, if he had seen fit to flit westward. 

Would he keep on loving her as he did now? Could fa- 
miliarity with such an insignificant bundle of imperfections 
as herself fail to breed contempt ? Could she and “ Philip 
her king” ever get to looking as stupidly indifferent to each 
other as did old Mr. and Mrs. Prodgers, who always went to 
sleep to get rid of each other after dinner ? She smiled at such 
a preposterous fancy. The hours, the days, the weeks, the 
years, would fly all too swiftly for any of the precious min- 
utes to be wasted in slothful slumbers. He could never 
change : he would always be grand and noble and kingly and 
perfect ; and she would always bow down in worship of his 
perfections. But she ! — her hair might turn gray ; her 
eyes might, grow dull and dim (he called her eyes starry 
now) ; her figure might lose its supple grace ; time might 
deal cruelly with her ; in short — and what then ? Ah I 
would he love her then as now ? 

Mercy on me ! half-past five o’clock, and here the child 
sits in her wapper ! ” 

Mira came back from dreamland on an electric current, 
as she found herself confronted by her mother, two brides- 
maids, and a small retinue of hand-maidens, all ready and 
eager to assist in the sacred rites of the bridal toilet. 

Is it time to dress already, mamma? ” 

Already ! ” answered Mrs. Stanley briskly. My word 
for it, child, eight o’clock, and the minister too, will be here 
before that unruly head of yours is half combed.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


9 


Thus reminded that she was possessed of a head which 
really did need a vast amount of skilful manipulation be- 
fore she could be pronounced half worthy to enter into the 
presence of her future lord, Mira rose uj), and began lazily 
pulling the pins out of her hair, letting it tumble upon her 
shoulders, and around her bright face, in great shimmering 
masses, and then resignedly yielded herself to those now all- 
important personages, — dressing-maids. 

Married to-night ! Tied up for life in less than a dozen 
more hours ! For better, for worse : who knows ? Deused 
ticklish business this marrying ! Sweet little girl, though, — 
mild'as buttermilk; can manage her with a look. None of 
your Queen Didos, forever on the rampage, for me ! I don’t 
propose to wear myself out, physically or mentally, taming 
a shrew. Mira is a lady, — a sweet, gentle-voiced, well-bred 
lady, — a credit to a man’s taste, an ornament to the head 
of his table. Pity the little thing isn’t a shade more intel- 
lectual ! I must be prepared, once in a while, to blush for 
her deficiency in that line. Wish she had a little more of 
her cousin in her ; but she’ll do, — do first-rate. She’s a safe 
investment. Nothing revolutionary about her. No danger 
of startling situations, and dramatic agitations, and palpita- 
tions generally. Life, married life, with Mira Stanley as a 
mate, will be placidly respectable, if a trifle respectably 
dull. NHmporte ! better moulder piecemeal on the rock than 
sink beneath some thundering social shock.” 

Mr. Philip Walworth had a trick of transposing poetiy, 
or rather of dismembering it, and selecting from it such 
disjointed words and sentences as might convey his mean- 
ing more forcibly than any original combination of his own 
manufacture. The fact that it was Mr. Philip Walworth’s 
wedding-night created more of a stir in Chester than did 
the coincident fact that it was Mira Stanley’s wedding- 
night. 

Half the belles of Chester who were bidden to the wed- 
ding would have given one of their pretty little white fingers 
to have been plajfing the part of principal lady in this social 
drama, instead of the insignificant role of smiling guest and 
gushing congratulation ; for Mr. Philip Walworth was not 
only ‘^strikingly handsome,” and “wonderfully intellectual,” 
but he was immensely wealthy, and bore, moreover, the en- 


10 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


viable reputation of being an irreproachably correct young 
man. The breath of slander had never blown Wal worth- 
ward ; the worst charge that had ever been brought against 
him being, that he was a passionate lover of fine horses, 
and handled the ribbons in rather dashing style. Also he 
would bet on horse-races ; and, if he lost very heavily, 
he would swear about it. But what woman, young or old, 
would regard such peccadilloes seriously, in the balance 
against his solid attractions? The men themselves pro- 
nounced Mr. Walworth “all right:” and the Avomen pro- 
nounced him more than all right; he was “charming, glo- 
rious, simply superb ; ” and Mira Stanley was blessed 
among women.” 

And he was an object of admiration, — especially on this 
night, when he was about to be united, in the holiest of all 
bonds, with the woman whom .he did love, in his man’s 
fashion, right dearly. 

Speaking after the manner of men, the half-bottle of 
champagne he had imbibed, by way of steadying his nerves 
for the coming ordeal, had made his fine eyes flash with added 
lustre, making his always handsome face brilliantly attrac- 
tive. Speaking after the manner of women, the light of his 
coming happiness shone in his luminous brown eyes, caus- 
ing them to glow with a soft brilliancy that actually illu- 
minated his handsome face. A half-smile of perfect content 
rested upon his finely-curved lips, bespeaking a heart void 
of ofience toward God and man. 

Mr. Philip Walworth’s toilet had been accomplished with 
that easy indifference which came of long habitude in the 
elegances of life. He was dressed for the momentous occa- 
sion fully two hours before he could dare think of driving 
to the Stanley mansion ; and as he flung himself into an 
arm-chair, and commenced operations on his already fault- 
less finger-nails, he tried to while away the tedium of waiting 
by indulging in the orthodox vein of banter with his “best- 
man,” who was already in attendance, having been selected 
to accompany him to the house of his bride. 

A sonorous rap at the door of Mr. Walworth’s sitting- 
room interrupted this last interchange of bachelor confi- 
dences. 

In answer to Mr. Walworth’s “Come in,” the door opened, 
and a man appeared upon the threshold, extending toward 
the groom-elect a letter. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


11 


yon, sir?” he rather asked than asserted. 

The young man held out his hand for it, and read thereon 
his own name, traced in a style of calligraphy totally un- 
familiar to him. Opening it, he found the following short 
communication : — 

^^SiR, — You are earnestly requested, in the name of hu- 
manity, to accompany the bearer of this without dela3^ 

Yours, &c., I. I. Davenport.” 

‘‘^For me ! Yes ; but what, in the name of all that’s puz- 
zling, does it mean?” asked Mr. Walworth, glancing from 
the open letter in his hand back to the bearer of it. 

Can’t say, sir, sure. I’m driver of cab 66, and was told 
by Dr. Davenport, which everybody in Chester knows, to 
drive the gentleman to 44 Houston Street immediate. The 
same I am ready to do now, sir.” 

“ What’s up, Phil ? ” asked the best-man, who was sitting 
on the side of Mr. Walworth’s low French bedstead, lazily 
swinging his broadclothed legs backward and forward. 

“ Shoot me if I know myself ! ” was his emphatic rejoin- 
der ; saying which, he flung the sheet of paper into his 
friend’s lap. 

Uncommonly queer, and monstrously inconvenient,” said 
that individual, mastering the contents at a glance. 

‘‘ Father,” said Philip, twisting his mustache in pertur- 
bation. 

“ Some poor devil in distress, who knows you are rich and 
generous, and wants to get something out of you,” suggested 
the friend. 

“^Poor devils’ don’t generally send cabmen around to 
fetch their benefactors,” replied Mr. Walworth sarcastically. 

Besides, the note comes from Dr. Davenport.” 

Fact ; and it’s pretty strong, coming from the old doc.” 

“ If I had time ” — began Mr. Walworth. 

^Ht’ll not take ye more’n ten minutes to drive to Ho. 
44, sir,” interposed the cabman, who had no notion of los- 
ing his passenger. 

“ Better see it out, Phil. Philanthropy and all that sort 
of thing pays, you know. It will sound uncommonly well 
in the ears of the little girl up yonder, that, at the very 
moment you were about to come for her, you stopped to 
obey the calls of humanity,” &c, 


12 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


Mr. Walworth looked at his watch. have an hour 
and a half to spare yet. You will wait for me here.’’ 

Of course I shall, my dear hoy.” 

“ There are plenty of cigars and decanters to keep you 
company.” 

Pray don’t distress yourself about me ; ” and the best- 
man arose from his lounging posture to help Philip on with 
his overcoat. 

Drive like the devil! ’’said Mr. Walworth to the cab- 
man as he flung himself upon the seat of the vehicle. 

The result of which order was to bring him in an incred- 
ibly short space of time jolting up against the curbstone 
in front of a decidedly sbabby-looking house in a part of 
the city which the aristocratic Mr. Walworth had never 
even seen before. 

His impatient rap at the door was answered almost im- 
mediately by a grave and dignified-looking gentleman, 
whom Philip recognized as Dr. Davenport. The front-door 
opened directly into a shabby-genteel room, evidently the 
parlor. 

Here I am, doctor,” began the young man with a nervous 
little laugh. I have obeyed your yqij urgent summons 
at great inconvenience to myself, as I am to be married at 
eight o’clock ; and it wants now twenty minutes of seven. 
So please let me hear at once what is wanted of me.” 

Married to-night ! ” echoed the physician. ’Tis a pity 
I should have been compelled to intrude upon you, young 
man, at such an inopportune moment ; but it was an imper- 
ative necessity which forced me to send for you. Come, let 
us waste no more time. There is a dying woman here who 
wished to see you before she breathed her last. I never 
saw her before yesterday, when I was called in profession- 
ally. She will answer no questions relative to her past life, 
her name, or her friends.^ Has expressed but one desire ; 
and that is to see you. Pass through that door, and you 
will be in her presence. I will remain here until you return.” 

Startled and awe-stricken, Philip AVal worth passed through 
the door indicated by the physician. He found himself in 
a small, sparsely-furnished bedroom. Half a dozen strides 
brought him to the bed where lay the dying woman. A 
pair of sunken, blue-veined lids were feebly raised at the 
sound of his footsteps; a startled glance from eyes that 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


13 


must once have been ravishing in their loveliness was raised 
to his face ; an attenuated little hand was stretched eagerly 
but feebly forth. 

“Amy! good God!” And Philip Walworth, in all his 
bridal bravery, sank humbly upon his knees on the bare and 
dusty floor beside the bed. . . . 

The minute-hand of the clock on the mantle of the 
shabby-genteel parlor was pointing to half-past seven when 
Philip Walworth again stood before the physician. 

“ Will she certainly die ? ” His face was very pale ; and 
his voice trembled as he asked the question. 

“ Before the dawn of day,” was the grave rejoinder, 
spoken in positive tones. 

“ Can you give me paper and pen ? ” 

“You will find both on that table,” replied the medical 
man, pointing to a table filled with medicine bottles. 

Seating himself thereat, Philip Walworth hastily wrote 
a draft on his bankers for a thousand dollars. Folding it 
in two, he handed it to the physician. “ If more should 
be needed, you know where to find me ; ” with which words 
he turned his back upon No. 44 Houston Street, and had 
himself whirled back to his rooms. 

In the space of another half-hour he stood before the 
minister of God, holding the small, fluttering hand of Al- 
mira Stanley in a firm but nervous grasp as they twain 
were made one in the sight of God and man. 

“ The groom was twice as much agitated as the bride,” 
whispered one lady-guest to another. “ I never saw any 
thing like it. He let the ring fall twice ! Thank Heaven 
it wasn’t me ! I should look upon it as a bad omen.” 

But what recked Mira Stanley of omens? “Philip her 
king” was hers, her very own, — hers to have and to hold 
until death did them part. 

And what recked Philip Walworth of omens, or of the 
past ? Had he not closed the door on the past when he 
closed the door of 44 Houston Street ? It was all over no^^ 
There was nothing to do but forget. Mira was his, his 
wedded wifej and there was not a cloud to dim his happi- 
ness. 

Not a cloud! No; but a something — a strange, sad, 
impalpable something — that went with him, that staid by 
him, that clung to him, all that evening, that gay, brilliant. 


14 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


festive evening, — his wedding-night, the happiest night 
of all his life ; a something from the silent past that 
would not give way before the noisy present ; a something 
that came between his hand and the soft warm palm of his 
new-made wife, making her rosy- tipped fingers feel cold 
and clammy and ghost-like ; a something that flitted across 
his vision when his gaze sought Mira’s shy eyes across the 
dance, but in their stead saw. a pair of haunting violet 
eyes, faded in their loveliness, wistful in their sadness; 
a something that chilled the air to a graveyard dampness ; 
that made him smell the mould above the rose ; ” a 
something, that, when he stooped to whisper tender words 
into his sweet bride’s ear, made the long white veil that flut- 
tered from the orange-wreath upon her pure white brow 
cling dismally around his arm like a winding-sheet; a 
something that made the stalwart form of Philip Walworth 
sway and bend like the lofty mast of a storm-tossed vessel, 
and fall prone in the midst of his wedding-guests ! 

Only a swoon ! — a swoon from which it was very easy 
work to restore him. 

And, returning to the parlors after an absence of half an 
hour, Mr. Walworth applied himself assiduously and suc- 
cessfully to the task of making the company forget his 
ridiculous display of nerves.” 

^‘Nerves! I am afraid his suffering is all champagne,” 
whispered a punning guest of the male sex. 

“'Nerves ! Horrible to think of marrying a man with 
heart-disease ! ” exclaimed one young lady, who had drawn 
a blank in the great Walworth lottery, to a sister-sufferer. 

“Nerves ! Hang me if I don’t believe 44 Houston Street 
has something to do with this ! ” murmured the best-man. 
“Mem. — Investigate at first opportunity.” 


CHAPTEE 11. 


1850. 

It was the closing day of the session at Madame Celes- 
tine’s academy for young ladies. The day before had been 
a grand day, — a triumphantly successful day, in which 
madame had finished more than a score of demoiselles 
with eclat to herself, and satisfaction to their friends. The 
day before had, in fact, closed the session; and to-day 
madame had nothing to do but to see her young charges 
safely despatched to their various destinations, after having 
held a very Frenchy parting interview with her graduates, 
in which a great many adjectives were used up on madame’s 
part, and a great many pocket-handkerchiefs on the part 
of the young ladies. 

As madame concluded with a very neat epilogue, and 
swept majestically out of the parlor, to which she had 
summoned her graduating class for this farewell harangue, 
the tongues of the emancipated began to wag in full chorus. 

What they were going to do, what they were going to 
see, what they were going to have, what they were go- 
ing to enjoy, in the great maelstrom of fashionable society, 
toward which their eager glances were turning so joyously, 
occupied every tongue. The chorus of fresh young voices 
was like the chattering of blackbirds in spring. 

Slightly apart from this gay group, gazing wistfully out 
of an open window, sat a young girl dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, — not handsome, stylish black, be-bugled and bedecked 
to that extent as to make the occasional death of a friend 
rather a windfall than otherwise, but plain, sombre 

15 


16 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


black, ratber the worse for wear. Very soft and white and 
delicate were the long, slender hands that lay folded list- 
lessly on her lap ; very graceful and swan-like the white 
throat which the dingy crape collar encircled ; very lovely 
the soft violet eyes, with their long black fringes, albeit 
mournfully sad their expression as she gazed out the open 
window, with a far-away look in them, hardly hearing the 
gay chatter of her classmates ; very graceful the contour 
of the small head, with its coronet of brown braids drooping 
low down on either side until they rested upon her pink 
shells of ears. 

And what is Queen Zenobia going to do with her 
royal self now that the stupid school-books are done away 
with ? ’’ and a girlish arm was thrown around the black- 
clad shoulders, while a bright, sweet face stooped caress- 
ingly over to look into the sad blue eyes. 

A look of affectionate greeting was flashed up at the 
pretty questioner as one of the slender white hands went 
up and rested upon her school-fellow’s soft palm. ^‘No 
royal destiny awaits me, Mira dear. Nor are the stupid 
school-books, as you so irreverently call our late compan- 
ions, done away with, so far as I am concerned : in fact, 
they loom in mountainous proportions on the horizon of 
my future. You know I shall have to teach for my live- 
lihood.” The words were spoken quietly, but without any 
bitterness, any repining at the hardness of the lot await- 
ing her. 

“ But not right away, Essie, — not without a speck of rest 
from study ! You who have studied so much harder than 
any of the rest of us, — you must have some rest, some 
fun.” 

Esther Brandon smiled bravely up at her friend as she 
answered, To you, Mira Walworth, who have been reared 
in luxury that knew no stint, surrounded by love and tender- 
ness from your cradle until now, sheltered from the very 
winds of heaven by a doting father and mother, I don’t doubt 
my lot seems a very hard one ; for it promises very little 
^ fun,’ as you call it, which is something girls of our age 
are too apt to think indispensable to existence. But I am 
not one of the sheltered ones of the earth, Mira ; and the 
sooner I recognize the fact that I have no one but myself 
to depend upon in this world, and the sooner I act upon 
that Imowledge, the better will it be for me.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


17 


You are a brave, brave darling ! What would I not 
give if I had a tithe of your self-reliance ? 

Don’t praise me too lavishly, Mira dear, I do not 
think I am naturally self-reliant. But a woman would be 
in a bad way, wouldn’t she, if she could not rely on herself 
when she has no one else in the world to rely upon ? But 
not even you, mon amie, who, alone of all my schoolmates, 
have ever wrung any thing like confidence out of me, can 
have any conception of tlie yearning, the positive longing, 
I sometimes feel for a mother’s love, a father’s guidance, 
a brother’s sympathy. O Mira, Mira ! this thing of guid- 
ing one’s self through the great unfriendly world is weary 
work, — such weary, weary work, my friend ! ” and the dark- 
blue eyes filled suddenly with great blinding tears. 

An impulsive kiss on each tear-laden lid was all the 
sympathy Mira knew how to ofier. 

Presently she spoke again : Come, go home with me, 
Essie, and rest your head and heart for a little while, 
dear, before you buckle on your armor for the uneven 
battle ahead of you. Go home with me, and make a 
friend of my precious mother. Let her talk to you as she 
does to me, and it will make you good and strong and 
brave, — braver even than you are now, dear. Come with 
me, and make my people thy people for a season, at least ; 
and then, when you do go out into the world, you shall not 
say that you are utterly alone in it : for father and 
mother will both have to love you ; and Alfred, dear pre- 
cious old Al! — who knows what havoc you may make in 
that quarter ? Will you go ? ” 

Gladly,” replied Esther without hesitation. Madame 
has offered me a situation in the primary department of 
her school ; but, for the two months that it will be closed, 
I should find it lonely enough here : so I accept your offer 
in the spirit in which it is made. The lines have fallen to 
us in very different places, Mira Walworth. I am not one 
of the favored ones of the earth. You are rich, and I am 
poor ; but I will not do your pure nature and noble soul 
such cruel injustice as to think myself unworthy of your 
friendship because of that difference. Ah ! Mira dear, 
your affection is now the one bright thing in an otherwise 
intolerably empty life. Love me always, please, and I shall 
not consider my lot entirely joyless.” 

2 


18 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


So it came about, that, when the travelling-carriage ar- 
rived for Miss Walworth, in addition to her own portly- 
looking trunk, a modest little black one, bearing the name 
of Esther Brandon,’’ was placed in the van, and started 
for Chester, whither we will precede our young travellers. 

Time had dealt gently with Philip Walworth and his 
wife Mira, nee Stanley. 

His riches had multiplied themselves. Men called him 
a “ solid ” man. His word was as good as his bond. He 
was a power in his community. The rich respected him, 
and the poor blessed him. His home, presided over by his 
gentle-voiced, well-bred wife, was the abode of luxury and 
refinement. Struggling genius was always kindly welcomed 
there, and went away calling down manifold blessings 
upon Philip Walworth the Christian gentleman, and Mrs. 
Walworth the saintly lady. 

The youthful adoration that had once filled Mira 
Stanley’s soul for Philip her king,” years had mellowed 
into placid affection. Time had answered the question, 
asked a quarter of a century ago, “ Would she and Philip 
ever get to be like old Mr. and Mrs. Prodgers ? ” She and 
Philip were not exactly like old Mr. and Mrs. Prodgers 
(long since gone to their rest) ; for life held new interests 
for them in their son, just nearing his majority, and their 
daughter, now ready to dazzle the world with her beauty 
and accomplishments. Therefore, instead of going to sleep 
after dinner to get rid of each other, they sat, one on each 
side of the fireplace (with the space of a ivhole hearth- 
rug between them), discussing the children.” 

King Philip’s head, now decidedly bald on top, rested its 
polished circumference against the rim of his cushioned 
easy-chair, enjoying his after-dinner pipe, listening in placid 
content to the soft, steady stream of words that poured 
from his wife’s lips with soporific effect. She was detailing 
with feminine minuteness and prolixity her plans for mak- 
ing Mira’s dehut an affair to be remembered in the neigh- 
borhood for all time to come. 

An occasional “Yes, my dear,” or “ Certainly, my love,” 
was all the interruption the even current of her monologue 
met with. 

“You know, father, daughter has written word she is 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


19 


going to bring home with her that poor young Miss Bran- 
don, whose mother died when she was such a young thing.’’ 

Yes, my dear.” 

“ We must try and make the forlorn child happy while 
she is with us.” 

Certainly, wife.” 

^^Poor thing, so young, and all alone in the world!” 
Mrs. Walworth’s spectacles grew cloudy from sympathy; 
and, taking them off to wipe them, her eyes wandered from 
the knitting that had hitherto engaged them to the face 
of Philip her king.” 

It was evident that balmy sleep was rapidly getting the 
better of him. The hand that held his pipe had gradually 
lowered itself until his arm rested upon the arm of his 
chair. His eyes opened and closed spasmodically in a 
frantic effort to appear interested in what his wife was say- 
ing. The contest between Morpheus and politeness was 
an uneven one. Morpheus carried the day ; and Mr. Wal- 
worth slept the sleep of the just. 

‘^Dear heart!” exclaimed Mrs. Walworth softly; “I have 
talked him actually into a doze ; ” and, rising tenderly, she 
dropped a gauze veil as softly as a zephyr over the beloved 
face to exclude marauding flies, and tip-toed quietly out of 
the room to see that the house was kept quiet, the dogs 
awed into silence, the roosters intimidated out of incipient 

crow'-s,” and the world — her world — bidden to hold its 
breath while her lord took his ease. 

And, while he sleeps, an element of noise and disquiet is 
travelling toward the handsome old house, as rapidly as two 
sleek carriage-horses can bring it, in the shape of Mira his 
pretty daughter, and Esther Brandon the beautiful orphan, 
whose sad fate has taken such hold upon the tender heart 
of his wife even before the girl’s sweet face has ever been 
seen. 

Father, wake up, wake up ! The child has come ! ” 
Mira was emphatically the child” yet to both parents. 

Mr. Walworth roused himselfj and rose with alacrity to 
greet the child. Hastening to the front-door, he was just 
in time to open the carriage, and receive in his arms the 
laughing girl who bounded into them, kissed him a dozen 
times in half as many seconds, then, turning imperatively 
toward the vehicle, exclaimed, Father, kiss my dearest 


20 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


friend, Essie Brandon, and tell her you are going to love 
her too/^ 

With a benevolent smile and stately courtesy Mr. Wal- 
worth held out his hand to assist that young lady to alight. 
As she raised her beautiful eyes in shy greeting to his face, 
he started, and turned pale. God of heaven, how like ! ’’ 
he murmured almost audibly. In a moment, however, he 
recovered himself, and hade his daughter’s guest welcome 
with sincerity and empressement. 


CHAPTER III. 

A TRIPLE CELEBRATION. 

Listen, everybody ! I have an idea ! And Miss Mira 
Walworth glanced round the breakfast-table as if so un- 
wonted a possession on her part should be noted as an era 
in the family annals. 

In consideration of your well-known deficiency in that 
line, sis, take a brother’s advice, and hold on to it,” said 
Mr. Alfred Walworth jestingly, pinching one of Mira’s 
pretty ears as he spoke. 

Couldn’t think of such a thing, brother mine, when so 
much good to mankind in general, and womanhood in 
particular, might be effected by its promulgation.” 

Oh ! it is a philanthropical idea, is it ? The marvel 
increases.” 

Of course it is a philanthropical idea. When was I 
ever known to entertain any other kind ? ” 

“ True. But, before you give us your idea, let us have 
your definition of the word ‘ philanthropy.’ ” 

The greatest good to the greatest number is my plat- 
form. Isn’t that sound philanthropy? I appeal to fa- 
ther.” 

Her appeal met with the usual fate of her appeals to 
that source. Philip Walworth smiled loving acquiescence 
in the soundness of her exposition. 

^^Now, then, that you have made good your position, we 
will listen to your idea.” 

Very well. It involves a little family chronology.” 

Taste for chronology and philanthropy both developing 

21 


22 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


in that small head with startling suddenness. — Miss 
Brandon, I am afraid you are responsible for this remark- 
able change in my harum-scarum sister ; ’’ and Alfred 
Walworth turned his fine brown eyes full upon Esther, who 
sat opposite him. 

They were the very best of friends, — this handsome 
heir to Philip Walworth’s hoarded wealth, and the poor 
orphan, the beautiful stranger that was within their gates. 
They had enjoyed free and delightful intercourse on terms 
of perfect equality for the three happy weeks that had flown 
by since Mira and she had come home from school. In fact, 
the whole family were her friends now. Mr. Walworth 
treated her with almost parental kindness ; Mrs. Walworth 
was tenderly considerate of her at all times ; and Alfred 
— well, Alfred, who spent two-thirds of his time with the 
young girls, was delightfully entertaining and unvaryingly 
kind, — too kind, maybe. Essie began to doubt the wisdom 
of having come home with Mira. Could she go suddenly 
away from this delightful home, out of this atmosphere of 
love and kindness and refined luxury, into her own bleak 
existence, without unwholesome repining? Would these 
two months of perfect happiness strengthen, or enervate 
her ? She did not know. She would not ask .these ques- 
tions of herself until forced to do so. 

Pardon the digression. Mira’s idea is in abeyance all 
this time. 

Mira’s philanthropy is all her own,” she answered 
brightly, and has been one of her chief characteristics 
ever since I have known her. As for her new-found taste 
for chronology, let us hear what it will amount to before 
we pass judgment.” 

Thank you, Essie ! If you did not once in a while come 
to the rescue with a gentle little ‘ snub,’ A1 would have me 
completely under cover pretty soon. Well, then, my chro- 
nological search will terminate with the answers to two 
inquiries. 

Mamma, weren’t you and father married just twenty- 
five years ago this coming Thursday'' week ? ” 

^^Just twenty -five years ago this coming Thursday 
week,” answered Mrs. Walworth, repeating the words 
softly ; while a pretty pink flush rose to her cheeks at the 
remembrance of that night of nights. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


23 


And doesn’t this dear old thing, with the big brown 
eyes and curly pate, come of age on that very same 
night ? ” 

He does, indeed. And the coincidence never struck 
me before.” 

Of course not ! ” said Mira with a little consequential 
air. Is it likely that such a romantic coincidence should 
strike anybody but a ^ sentimental goose,’ as A1 is so fond 
of calling me ? But I do adore sentiment. It is the flower- 
garden of prosy life, where one may linger amid fragrance 
and blooming beauty, forgetting the heat and the dust of 
the toilsome highways.” 

Bravo, little sister! I am lost in admiration of your sud- 
den mental development. Chronology, philanthropy, and 
sentiment, all within the space of half an hour ! The last 
thing I remember of you before I left for college was see- 
ing you crying on the front-steps because the cat had pulled 
your canary cage down and crippled Dick.” 

^^Poor old Dick! And I’d cry again if he were hurt. 
But I’ve never promulgated my one idea yet. We are as 
digressive as two old ladies over their tea. — Mamma, my idea 
is that it will be grand, glorious, and peculiar to celebrate 
your silver wedding, brother’s majority, and my entrance 
into the beau monde, by one magnificent coup de theatre. 
What do you all think of it ? Isn’t it a beautiful idea ? ” 
The uniqueness of the idea was cordially acceded to by 
the rest of the circle. So it was decided it should he. 
Esther, of all the family, had a slight sinking of the heart 
at the alarming prospect of being thus thrown suddenly 
into contact with fashionable Chester. But she would not 
mar her friend’s delight by showing this feeling, and entered 
cheerfully into the details which afforded Mira such un- 
qualified pleasure. 

I am sure of kindly treatment,” she argued with herself; 
and, as I am in mourning, my plain apparel will attract no 
attention. Mira’s loving heart shall not be hurt by any 
lack of interest on my part.” 

The night of the triple celebration came. Mira was ra- 
diant in her bright young beauty. Mrs. Walworth was 
lovely with the placid beauty of a maturity that had been 
reached through a long succession of painless days, and 
years of calm content. Alfred, the heir of the house, and 


24 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


sole representative of the spotless name of Walworth, was 
the impersonation of buoyant, hopeful, eager manhood. 
With his magnificent head poised proudly upon his neck, 
as if conscious of its own ability to do something great, 
should the unspiritual god Circumstance^’ but ofter the 
occasion ; with his flashing brown eyes and arched brows ; 
with his beautiful mouth, indicative of power and indomi- 
table will ; with his sinewy form, and small feet and hands, — • 
he was physically a very handsome man : of the mental and 
moral Allred Walworth, time will inform you. To com- 
plete the family group, there was Philip Walworth, bland, 
dignified, handsome, the suave and courteous gentleman 
to all, the Chevalier Bayard of Chester, — a man without re- 
proach and without fear. And their guest, Esther Brandon ? 

She had conceded one point to Mira’s loving importuni- 
fies. She had laid aside her heavy black dress, and wore 
white, with black ribbons. The rich coronet of brown 
braids, that had won for her at school the admiring so- 
briquet of Queen Zenobia, by reason of the queenly air they 
lent her, was studded with Marguerites ; these flowers con- 
stituting her sole attempt at ornamentation. Exquisitely 
lovely she looked with her soft white dress falling in grace- 
ful folds about her slender figure, — the plainest dress in all 
that gorgeous crowd, yet, thanks to the stately bearing 
of the penniless orphan, one of tlie most noticeable. 

A revelation came to Alfred Walworth as he bent over 
her soon after her entrance on his father’s arm, listening to 
her prettily-worded congratulations on the occasion. He 
was in love with his sister’s friend ! He knew it by token 
that all the fashion and beauty and intellect of Chester 
were assembled there that night, partially to do him honor ; 
and that, by contrast with that same fashion and beauty 
and intellect, Esther Brandon rose triumphantly superior. 
None of the elaborate and wordy congratulations of the 
many that had been poured into his ears had touched his 
heart as had her simply spoken words. He knew it, because, 
of all the bright eyes that flashed encouragement at the 
heir of the house, in her beautiful eyes alone he longed to 
find favor. The ever-recurring desire he felt to wander 
over to the quiet corner where she sat talking easily and 
gracefully with some of their guests (who, like herself, did 
not dance) convinced him that the world, of which that 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


25 


ball-room was but an epitome, held but one woman for 
him. 

A revelation came to Esther Brandon that night also. 
It \vas conveyed through the media of disconnected scraps 
of conversation, that floated into her quiet corner very in- 
tensively. But the piano, behind which she had half way 
screened herself, did not give less token of being stabbed 
than did her coldly impassive face. She possessed the 
happy faculty of appearing to be deaf, dumb, and blind, 
when occasion called for. She chose to appear all three 
this night, for the sake of others more than for her own. 

With the easy grace of a woman of the world, she sus- 
tained the part of absorbed listener to a prosy old gentleman, 
who declared boldly that he’d taken a monstrous fancy to 
her,” while her heart-strings quivered under the stinging 
innuendoes that floated to her. 

“ She is as beautiful as a dream,” said the poetically-in- 
clined Mr. Mortimer to his partner. Can you tell me who 
she is ? ” 

“ I can give you her name, which, I fancy, is as much 
as any one can do. It is ^Brandon.’ Mira Walworth 
brought her home from school with her. Heaven only 
knows what for! ” 

Possibly Mr. Alfred Walworth is better informed than 
heaven.” 

You mean that he would marry her ! ” 

I mean that he is very devoted this evening.” 

^^True; but playing the devoted to a pretty girl who 
takes no pains to hide from you that she is dead in love 
with you, and marrying her, are two different things.” 

Here Mr. Mortimer and his pretty partner swung corners, 
and whirled on in the dance, noting nothing of the darts 
they had flung into a fresh young heart. 

“ Can any one tell me who that beautiful girl is that Al- 
fred Walworth took down to supper ? She’s perfectly exqui- 
site. I never saw such eyes in my life ! ” And the possessor 
of the finest pair of eyes in the room glanced inquiringly 
up to her partner’s face. 

Then you must be a stranger to looking-glasses,” was 
the gallant reply. That is a Miss Brandon, on a visit to 
Miss Walworth.” 

Yes j but who is she? I want to know. It is always 


26 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


desirable to know whom one is thrown in contact with, 
where they came from, and all about them.’^ 

“ I fancy I have told you as much as any one else can. 
She is a Miss Brandon. She’s undeniably a handsome 
woman. She is — nobody knows who.” 

Just like the Walworths! They are the greatest peo- 
ple for picking up nobodies. Come, that is our waltz.” 

And they waltzed out of the ken of the poor young no- 
body, who crouched there in the friendly protection of the 
piano, conning over this new page in the great book of life 
sadly and drearily, feeling somewhat crushed, and heartily 
ashamed to think that she had no fitting explanation of 
herself, no apology for her being, ready to offer these severe 
but perfectly correct social judges, but outwardly as calm 
and collected as if she carried her pedigree stamped upon 
her pure white brow, so that he who ran might read. They 
were right. Who was she, that she should come into the 
august presence of these social magnates with no dowry 
but her own beautiful self, no letters-patent of nobility 
but her lofty soul and fearless rectitude ? The only mistake 
she had made was in ever leaving Madame Celestine’s 
dingy academy to come, for ever so short a time, into the 
bright glare of this other world, — Mira’s world, not hers. 
Poor moth ! she would go fluttering back into her native ob- 
scurity sadly scorched. She was growing very miserable, 
but trying to be very philosophical, when a kingly head 
bent low over the ottoman where she was sitting, and a 
hand was held out to assist her to rise. 

Come with me : you will not dance ; so you must give me 
a good long promenade. I believe that I have danced all 
my duty dances ; and I have come to you for my reward.” 
And, with a little imperative gesture, Alfred Walworth 
brought her to her feet : then he slipped her hand through 
his arm ; and, before her lips had been able to utter the 
remonstrance in her heart, they were slowly making the 
circuit of the long rooms with a score or two of other prom- 
enaders. 

You are not yourself to-night,” began the young man, 
glancing anxiously at the moody brow of his fair compan- 
ion. 

Yes : I am myself now. The trouble is, I have not 
been myself before to-night.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


27 


You speak enigmatically.’’ 

I will do so no longer, my dear, kind friend. I have 
just found out what I half suspected before this evening.” 

And that is ? ” 

^^That I should not have come here with Mira, kind as 
was her invitation, and happy as I have been.” 

And why ? ” 

The fashionable world wants an explanation of me ; and 
I have none to give. How can I explain myself? Who 
and what am I? Aristocratic Chester asks the question, 
and I have no satisfactorj^- reply ready.” 

And you let such stinging insects annoy you ? I had 
thought you braver.” 

“ I am only a woman,” answered Essie in tones of meek 
apology. 

“ Let me answer aristocratic Chester for you, dear one. 
Give me the right to shield you from pain and sorrow, 
Essie ; for I love you beyond the power of my poor clumsy 
tongue to make you understand.” 

It was quietly spoken ; hut Alfred Walworth’s rich voice 
quivered with its burden of strong emotion. 

He felt the small hand that rested on his arm tremble 
with answering emotion ; but no words came from the 
girl’s pale lips. She could not speak. Without another 
word, he led her into a small room adjoining the drawing- 
rooms ; then, seating her in an arm-chair, he folded his 
arms, and stood looking down upon her with an air of calm 
determination, as does one who can afford to be patient. 

Alfred Walworth,” she said at last, “you do not know 
what you are talking about. Aristocratic Chester would 
turn its back upon you in scorn should you ally yourself 
with a nobody.” 

“ Confound aristocratic Chester ! ” 

“And your father?” 

“ Has always told me to marry a woman of worth, and 
he would gladly receive her as his daughter.” 

“Your mother?” 

“ Is but a wifely echo. Moreover, she already loves you 
second only to my sister.” 

“And that sister?” 

“Essie, you are a beautiful hypocrite. You know Mira 
would hail our marriage with delight.” 


28 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Then all the bitterness and distrust and gloom went oul 
of Esther Brandon’s face, and left it bright with the ligh< 
of love and happiness. With eyes humid with feeling, she 
held out both hands to her lover. 

‘•You love me, then!” he cried, clasping them eagerly 
between his own. 

“With all my heart and soul and strength,” was the 
fearless reply. “Come, take me back to the parlors. Your 
absence will be noted.” 

Another clasp of the hand, and once more she placed her 
hand within his arm. 

“And how about the stinging insects now, my own?” 

“I think I can stand them. You have furnished me 
with a coat of mail.” 

As the plighted couple retraced their steps to the crowded 
drawing-rooms, they passed close to where Mr. Walworth, 
senior, sat on a divan, coseyly hob-nobbing with an old-time 
friend. Their acquaintance, indeed, dated from their col- 
lege-days. 

One end of Esther’s long sash curled itself affectionately 
around the gold head of the old gentleman’s cane. With 
a sweet look of apology she stooped and disengaged it, then 
passed on with her escort. 

There was a queer look of puzzled wonder on the 
stranger’s face as he turned to Mr. Philip Walworth with 
the inquiry, — 

“Who is she, Phil?” 

“ A Miss Brandon, a schoolmate of my daughter Mira.” 

“ Gad ! but it’s a wonderful likeness.” 

“To whom?'” asked Philip Walworth recklessly. 

“ To Amy Wharton, your old flame. Can’t you see it 
jmurself, old fellow?” 

Mr. Walworth’s face turned visibly paler ; but twenty-five 
years is surely long enough for the weakest of us to acquire 
self-possession : so he answered very quietly and very false- 

'y’ ~ 

“hTo : I see no resemblance. It exists in your imagina- 
tion alone.” 

“ You are the first man that ever accredited me with any. 
But, as there is a heaven above us, that is Amy Wharton’s 
rejuvenated self, or something very close of kin to her.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Philip Walworth with a nervous laugh. 


CHAPTER IV. 


MORNING REFLECTIONS. 

'^You made a goose of yourself last night, Esther 
Brandon, and I am ashamed of you ; ” and the young lady 
in question cast a deeply-reproachful glance at her mirrored 
selfj as she combed out her long beautiful braids the morn- 
ing after the Walworth celebration. 

You were undignified enough to complain of speeches 
that were never intended for your ears ; and you were 
unwise enough to listen to words of love from the son 
of this house, when your own good judgment might have 
told you, that, naturally, parental pride will have made 
Mr. and Mrs. Walworth form some ambitious schemes for 
their boy. A poor return you are making for the kindness 
showered upon you by these dear people. I will release 
him this morning. I will tell him we did not know what 
we were saying or doing last night : we were both carried 
away by the light and the music and the dangerous solitude 
of the crowd. He is too young to think of marriage. I 
will not hamper him. I love you too dearly to burden you, 
Alfred mine.’^ She warmed into apostrophe. You shall 
go out into the world unshackled, and taste of its delights 
until they pall upon you. And then — ah ! if then the old 
love, ay, if my very existence, be not forgotten, and you 
come back to me faithful and true, and tell me that you 
have not ceased to love, then I can put my hand into yours 
without one twinge of self-reproach, and repeat the words 
I spoke in my haste last night, — ‘ I love you with all my 
heart and soul and strength.^ I do love him dearly and 


30 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


unselfisHy, — so dearly, that I will not hamper him with 
a wife on the very threshold of life. We are both young 
enough to wait. I can afford to teach a year or two with 
such a blessed hope in the future to buoy me up. And he 
— why, he is a mere hoy. A girl of eighteen is so much 
older than a man of twenty-one ! He hardly knows his 
own mind yet. We will wait.” 

Having thus settled her own future and Mr. Alfred 
Walworth’s to her entire satisfaction, this sage of eighteen 
summers gave a final glance into her mirror, — a glance em- 
bracing the whole of her fresh morning toilet, — and left 
her chamber to join the family in the breakfast-room. 

Eor limpness and general debility, commend me to the 
givers of a feast on the day after the feast. 

Mr. Walworth seemed ready to exclaim with the 
Preacher, ‘Wanity, vanity, — all is vanity.” Mrs. Wal- 
worth’s placid face wore a thank -God -it -is -all -over ex- 
pression. Mira, worn out with excitement and fatigue, 
sleepily declared it had been perfectly heavenly ; hut, oh ! 
wasn’t she tired? Alfred heroically tried to suppress 
incipient yawns, which adolescent manhood declared fear- 
fully unromantic, and out of keeping with his newly^ac- 
quired position as fiance. But even people in love need 
a few hours’ sleep; and he’d be hanged if he’d had five 
minutes since the last carriage had been seen off. Essie 
alone, cool and fresh, was her own dainty self. She was one 
of those serene-looking beauties whose outw'ard calm could 
he preserved unruffled, in spite of the liveliest internal 
commotion. 

She felt any thing but calm, however, as she sat down in 
the midst of the family group, taking care to place her 
chair where she shouldn’t meet Alfred’s ardent gaze every 
time she glanced up. She had an unconscionably guilty 
feeling, as if she had robbed somebody’s treasure-box the 
night before. Peeling thus, she bravely resolved to make 
restitution. 

Queer feeling for a poor girl to have who has just been 
asked in marriage by a rich young man ! ” Granted, dear 
scoffer. But Esther Brandon was queer; and she was 
given to queer feelings, and queer modes of reasoning. 

By one of those happy accidents which the guardian 
sprite of lovers is always bringing about, Mr. Alfred Wal- 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


31 


worth found liimself alone with their fair guest soon after 
breakfast; his father having retired to the library with 
his morning papers, and Mira gone off like a dutiful daugh- 
ter and considerate sister to aid her mother in having the 
cut-glass and surplus silver put away again. So the two 
had the long drawing-room all to themselves : upon the 
strength of which young Mr. Walworth did what every 
young man would have done in his place, — deserted his 
chair by a far-away window, and boldly took possession of 
a portion of the sofa upon which Essie sat, making believe 
she was crotcheting a tidy for Mrs. Walworth’s rocking- 
chair. ■ A rash attempt on the part of the young man to 
possess himself of the hand that held the needle met with 
a decided repulse. 

Upon which Mr. Alfred Walworth grew red and indig- 
nant, clianged his position from the inclined plane to the 
rigidly perpendicular, and said in a sort of magisterial 
voice, — 

Essie, look at me.” 

Which Essie only half way did, flashing a shy glance at 
him from the corners of her eyes, then bending again over 
her crotchet-work with a very pink face. She began to 
realize that restitution to Mr. and Mrs. Walworth was 
easier to theorize about with half a dozen doors and a flight 
of steps between her and Alfred their treasure than it was 
to make with the handsome fellow sitting close beside her 
on the sofa, using his big brown eyes with telling effect. 

Esther Brandon, are you a coquette ? ” 

“ I hope not,” answered the accused demurely. 

Did you not tell me last night that you loved me with 
all your heart and soul and strength ? ” 

Yes.” 

Did you mean what you said ? ” 

I did.” 

Then does not the hand that you just now repulsed me 
with belong to me ? ” 

Only conditionally.” 

Only conditionally,” he echoed. Essie dear, speak more 
satisfactorily, please ; don’t torture a fellow this way : for, 
indeed, the love I offered you last night was honest and 
true, and deserves more respectful treatment at your hands.’^ 
There was a ring of anxiety in his voice that made 


32 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


sweetest music in Essie’s ears. She laid down her crotchet, 
and faced full round upon him, saying, — 

It shall have it too, Alfred. I will tell you soberly 
exactly what I mean. I say ‘ soberly ; ’ for we were both 
drunken with love last night, dearest, and acted in tlie 
proverbially witless fashion of lovers. I lay awake nearly 
all night, pondering over what had passed between us : and 
although it is not so easy to reason and calculate now, with 
you so close to me, I know that my reflections in my own 
room this morning were dictated by reason ; and I know 
that the conclusions founded upon those reflections are just 
and true; and, however much you may rebel against them 
at present, the time will come when you will say, ^ She was 
right.’ ” 

Quite a neat peroration ; but pray come to the gist of the 
matter, Essie,” said Alfred, shifting impatiently to the other 
end of the sofa ; for that white hand that she wouldn’t let 
him take possession of was tantalizingly close. 

I think it would be but a poor return for all the kind- 
ness and aifection that have been showered upon me by your 
family that I should entice tlieir one son into a marriage 
before he has seen any thing of the world, — before he hardly 
knows his own mind. You know, and so do I, that your 
father has his plans for you. Shall I frustrate those plans 
by burdening you with a wife at the very beginning of 
your career ? If you really love me, dear Alfred, can we 
not aflbrd to wait a while ? ” 

“ Esther Brandon, how came you with such an old and 
calculating head upon your beautiful shoulders ? Do you 
suppose, if you really loved me, you could reason thus ? 
Did Madame Celestine graduate you in social ethics ? ” 

Esther’s sweet mouth quivered with wounded feeling as 
she looked reproachfully up into her lover’s angry face^ 

I have acquired my social ethics in a harder school than 
Madame Celestine’s, Alfred, — in the school of a bitter 
experience. But is it utterly beyond your man’s power of 
credence to believe that a woman’s love can be so unselfish 
as to make her desire the good of him she loves before her 
own ? ” 

Silent and abashed, the young man bowed before the gen- 
tle dignity of her reproof. Then she resumed : — 

I think we have both taken too much for granted the 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


consent of your parents. It would be strange if they 
should be willing for you to marry me, — I poor, kinless, 
friendless ; you young, admired, wealthy, with all the world 
beckoning to you. Go out into that world, and test it, my 
beloved ; and then if you can come back to me, and tell me 
truthfully that you love me yet, — me alone of all woman- 
kind, — why, then ” — She finished the sentence with a 
rosy flush. 

“ Essie, it is your pride, and not your love, that has been 
speaking so bravely; and, before that clock strikes thrice 
more, I will make you take back every one of your brave 
words.’’ 

Esther looked at him wonderingly ; but he vouchsafed no 
explanation of his boastful declaration. His ej^es shone 
with the light of determination; while will, firm and in- 
domitable, showed in the tight compression of his finely- 
chiselled mouth. 

Good-by for a little while, my wife that is to be ; ” and, 
without asking leave or license, he bent over her with an 
air of possession, and imprinted a soft little kiss upon her up- 
turned brow : then he went out from her presence, leaving 
her tremulous with love, and holding him all the dearer for 
that daring caress and boastful declaration, — leaving her 
bereft of philosophy, but rosy with hope. And from the 
bottom of her woman’s heart she prayed that the decision 
of this mighty matter should be taken from her weak 
hands, and settled for her. For, oh ! she was heart-hungry. 
She yearned for happiness, as only lonely woman souls, who 
know it but in the lives of others, can yearn : was it to come 
to her ? 

The monotonous in and out of the crotchet-needle irri- 
tated her highly-strung nerves. She must do something. 
Mira and her mother were busy. She could not intrude on 
them. She would try to read until he came back to her. 
She put her hand out at random to a table laden with books 
near the sofa on which she sat. It chanced to be a volume 
of the philosophical writings of Fichte that she took up. 
At random, also, she opened it, and read, — 

Here below is not the land of happiness : I know it 
now. It is only the land of toil ; and every joy which comes 
to us is only to strengthen us for some greater labor to suc- 
ceed.” 


3 


34 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


reads like a prophecy,” murmured Esther; and the 
rosy flush that had dyed her brow when Alfred gave her 
that first kiss of love faded away, and left her paler than 
usual. 

‘^Will it prove one to me?” She asked the question 
aloud of the empty room. 

Will what prove what?” asked Alfred Walworth in a 
cheery voice ; and, glancing up at him, Esther knew by the 
glad light in his eyes that all was well with him, — with 
them. More philosophy ! ” and, taking Fichte out of her 
hands, he banged the German philosopher irreverently back 
upon the table. My father wants to talk with you, dear 
one ; and I fancy he will be able to convince you that love 
is mightier than logic. Will you let me escort you to the 
library ? ” 

Mechanically Esther got up, and placed her hand on her 
lover’s arm. This thing of being interviewed by one’s fu- 
ture father-in-law struck her as being slightly novel, and 
decidedly awe-inspiring. What did he want of her ? Was 
he going to “ demand her intentions,” after the manner of 
paterfamilias ? Was he going to reproach her for 
robbing him of his boy ? She smiled at the ridiculousness 
of her own fears. Would Alfred look so bright if there was 
any thing very terrible in store for her ? She called herself 
a silly goose half a dozen times mentally, and apparently 
derived strength and courage therefrom ; for by the time 
Alfred opened the library-door, and sprung it on her like a 
trap, she found herself able to face his august father with 
her usual quiet dignity. 

Seating her in state in his own easy-chair, Mr. Walworth, 
senior, opened the interview with that graceful savoir faire 
for which he was so particularly distinguished. 

My boy begs me. Miss Brandon, to plead his cause with 
our fair guest; and I am ready to do so earnestly and sin- 
cerely.” 

Mr. Walworth,” began Esther, looking him bravely in 
the face, “ your generous magnanimity excites my wonder- 
ment and my admiration. It would be but a poor return 
for all your goodness to me if I w'as any thing but perfect- 
ly candid with you. I love your son ; and therefore it would 
be hard indeed for me to tell him any thing of myself that 
might lower me, however unjustly, in his estimation. But 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


35 


to you I will speak very plainly; and, after I have told 
you all I have to tell you about myself, in your hands I will 
leave my fate, — mine and Alfred’s.^’ 

Philip Walworth’s handsome face took on a look of eager 
interest. She was going to do, unasked, what, with all his 
adroitness, he would have found it difficult to demand of 
her. She was going to tell him who and what she was. 

I must begin my story,” said the brave girl, “ by telling 
you that I do not even know who I am.” 

A ghastly pallor spread over her listener’s face ; but she 
took no note of it. He shrank in dread from her next 
words. 

In the dim, far-away past, I remember a home that 
was beautiful and luxurious, though hardly more than a cage. 
I remember, vaguely, being w^aited on by a tender-hearted 
old nurse. I remember the face of my mother, sad and 
beautiful ; and then, ah ! then I remember a pictured face 
that I was made to kiss every night, and say, ^God bless 
papa ! ’ — grandly beautiful, but oh ! so stern, so fearfully stern, 
that it has always remained stamped on my memory a fitting 
type of an angry God.” 

- And he ? ” Philip Walworth asked eagerly and passion- 
ately. 

He was, I believe, my father. I cannot tell you. I can 
never remember seeing him myself. Ho fatherly caresses, 
no loving-kindnesses, are among my childish recollections. 
Madame tells me that my mother married a Southerner; 
that is all she knew;” and Queen Zenobia bowed her 
beautiful head in shame for the misty account she had 
rendered of herself. 

Go on, my dear young lady : you interest me deeply. 
Plad you no brothers nor sisters ? ” 

^^Hone that I can recall to mind. But I was so young 
when I was placed under Madame Celestine, that I may 
have forgotten. 

could hardly have been more than five years old when 
my mother took me to Madame Celestine’s, and, telling her 
til at it was imperatively necessary she should take a long 
journey, left me in her charge, leaving also with her a large 
sum of money to defray my expenses. Madame had educated 
my mother before me, and has always expressed great love 


36 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


and admiration for her character. Madame herself told me 
all that I am telling you now. One letter only ever came 
from my mother after she had left me. The money left 
with madame, who is honest and good beyond the ordinary 
run of human nature, sufficed to educate me. It is nearly 
gone now; and I am ready to teach for my livelihood. 
This black garb I assumed a year or two ago, immediately 
after having extracted from madame the meagre details of 
my history that I have just given you, out of respect to the 
mother, who I know must be dead, else she would come 
hack to her lonely child. Now you know all about me that 
I know myself. I came home from school with your 
daughter because I loved her. She was very good to me 
at school, and begged me to come here with her, and take a 
good long rest before I assumed the duties of a teacher. 
You have all been very, very good to me ; and I thank you 
from the depths of a very lonely heart. I have spent two 
happy months here ; and now I am ready to go away and 
buckle on my armor. 

do not think the mischief I have done is irreparable. 
It is easy enough for a man, especially so young a man as 
your son, to forget his first love ; ” and a hitter smile played 
for a moment around the girl’s sweet mouth. 

Mr. Walworth’s face wore an expression of relief at the 
close of her recital. Her story convinced him that the 
likeness which had so startled him was purely accidental. 

Stop, Miss Brandon : you do both my hoy and myself 
injustice, — him, in holding his love so lightly ; me, in think- 
ing I am purely ambitious for my hoy. I believe that 
Alfred’s wealth will be a great temptation to designing and 
unprincipled women. I would not have him fall a prey to 
any such. I have known genuine happiness in my own 
home with his mother, who brought me no dowry hut her 
own dear self. I believe you to be a girl of character and 
principle. The brave manner in which you have told your 
own sad story convinces me of it. My hoy loves you ; and I 
believe you will secure his future happiness. I, his father, 
ask you to be my daughter.” He held out both hands — he, 
haughty, aristocratic Philip Walworth — with a pleading 
gesture to the beautiful orphan. Two soft white hands 
were laid trustingly into his extended palms; and Mr. Wal- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


37 


worth, bowing his lofty head, imprinted a father’s kiss upon 
the lips that quivered with hardly suppressed emotion. 

I told you so ! ” whispered Mira exultingly when the 
engagement became matter of family consultation, without 
deigning to explain when or where or what. 


CHAPTEE y. 


A NINE-DAYS^ WONDER. 

All Chester wondered, all Chester exclaimed, all Chester 
grumbled indignantly, because a pretty nobody, from no 
place, had come into their midst, and carried off the prize 
for which all female Chester was preparing to compete. 

Was ever such infatuation heard of before as was ex- 
hibited by Alfred Walworth ! 

“Was ever such eccentricity, combined with generosity, 
exhibited, before Philip Walworth extended his cordial 
welcome to the penniless nobody ! 

“Were ever cards more neatly played than had Esther 
Brandon played hers ! Deliberately forced herself upon 
the Walworth family, and, by some species of sorcery, be- 
witched the whole family, from the imbecile Alfred up to 
his cool-headed father ! 

All Chester wagged its tongue for nine days, and then 
grew sullenly quiescent. 

The whole affair, in fact, was being managed with total 
disregard to the proprieties of life, or Mrs. Grundy’s frowns. 

“ The artful creature was so afraid that her quarry might 
’scape her, that, in defiance of all decent precedent, she was 
going to remain at the Wal worths up to the day of her 
marriage, which was to take place at the end of the 
month.” 

And, for a wonder, all Chester was right in its statement 
of facts, if not in its judgment thereupon. 

Eor a pair of motherly arms had been folded around 
Esther Brandon when she urged the propriety of her return 
38 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


39 


to Madame Celestine’s, and a motherly hand caressed her 
beautiful head as Mrs. Walworth gainsaid that resolve. 

^Wou belong to us now, dear child; and why return to 
that dreary academy for the short interval that is to inter- 
vene before your marriage ? Gossips will talk, possibly : 
but I have always had a trick of doing things to suit my- 
self, in spite of the gossips ; and I have found the plan 
work very well. Do as you please, so you don’t please to 
do any thing very bad, and, in nine cases out of ten, you 
will find the inconsistent world ready to applaud you. Try 
to please the world, and you will find yourself in the posi- 
tion of the miller and his ass. In marriage-contracts, above 
every other sort, I hold that it is imperatively desirable the 
parties should suit themselves. From the time Philip 
and I were blessed with our boy and girl, we commenced 
plotting and planning for their future. ^ Above all things,’ 
said I, ‘ let their hearts have full play.’ What is life without 
love ? Love was the groundwork of our own union ; love 
has been its soul and strength; love has enabled Philip to 
overlook my many imperfections ; love has enabled me to 
appreciate his manifold perfections. Ah ! Essie, dear child, 
wdien a nian loves a woman, he is as wax in her hands. 
My boy loves you, child ; and it is because of your own 
lofty soul and noble principles that I rejoice at the prospect 
of your becoming his wife. Alfred is a boy of indomitable 
will and fiery passions : wisely married, he will mature into 
a fine man, — a man of weight in his sphere. I believe you 
will help him in the right way. Be a helpmate in the 
fullest sense of the word to my boy, Esther Brandon, and 
I will bless the chance that brought you under my roof- 
tree.” 

And with solemn earnestness Essie vowed to try to be 
to Alfred what Alfred’s mother had been to his father. 

And time rolled on apace, bringing nearer and nearer 
the wonderful day, until it wanted but three short little 
ones of the 30th of May, — the one fixed for the ceremony, 
which was to take place in church. 

On the moaning of the 27th, Mr. Walworth made his ap- 
pearance in his wife’s room, about an hour after breakfast, 
with an open letter in his hand : — 

“ Wife, I have received an urgent call to Hew-York City. 


40 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Shall go up on the half-past-five-o’clock train this evening, 
and return on the same train to-morrow. Any thing I can 
do in that quarter for either of you three ladies ? ” and his 
glance embraced his, wife, his daughter, and Essie. 

Mrs. Walworth assumed a thoughtful expression ; Mira 
rattled off a dozen requests in a minute ; and Esther told 
him she should like to trouble him with one small commis- 
sion. She had in her possession a bracelet that had once 
belonged to her mother. It was a handsome piece of jew- 
elry, and she would like to wear it soon ; but it was very 
much too large for her wrist. Would Mr. Walworth be 
kind enough to take it with him to the city, and have it 
altered ? She had tried the Chester jewellers ; but none of 
them were willing to undertake it. 

Certainly Mr. Walworth would do that, or any thing -else 
his lovely daughter that was to be chose to ask. 

She chose to ask nothing more ; and, just before he 
started that evening, she placed in his hands a small box, 
carefully tied up, which contained the precious bracelet. 

Mr. Walworth’s business proved more troublesome than 
he had at first anticipated. The morning of the 30th, the 
morning, arrived before he could turn his face homeward. 
But it did not matter : he would be there plenty of time for 
the ceremony ; and, before that time, his masculine presence 
could be very well dispensed with. He would call now and 
get Essie’s bracelets ; for, thinking to please her, he had or- 
dered a match to the old one, and was going to take her 
back a pair. 

Bracelets ? Yes, sir, ready in half an hour. Have been 
waiting to see you before altering the old one. There is a 
curious inscription on the inside, which will have to be cut 
into in order to reduce the size. Thought possibly the gen- 
tleman hadn’t noticed it, and would object to having it 
spoiled.” And the goldsmith held the interior of Essie’s 
bracelet toward Mr. Walworth for his inspection. 

Placing his gold-rimmed eye-glasses to his eyes, which 
were not as keen as they had been thirty years before, else 
he had not needed them to read that inscription, Philip 
Walworth saw the characters _jn< ’KITIA’n dancing 
before his bewildered vision in letters of fire. He staggered 
like a drunken man ; and the heavy bracelet fell clinkin'T^ 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


41 


upon the glass show-case. That bracelet had been her 
mother’s : Esther had told him ! She was her daughter, 
then ! That startling likeness was, after all, no cheat of his 
imagination. His son was about to marry her, — marry her 
that very night ! God ! for wings to speed him back to 
Chester! Could steam carry him there fast enough? What 
should he say to Alfred? What should he say to her, to 
his wife, to them all ? Curse the hour that had seen her 
enter his doors ! Curse his own romantic folly in approving 
so cordially of this love-match ! How was he to extricate 
them all, without suffering in his wife’s estimation ? — that 
pure, good woman, who for twenty-five long years had 
looked up to him as the embodiment of justice and gener- 
osity. How forbid this marriage, and clear himself from 
the charge of insane caprice? How turn this poor girl 
from his doors, and yet retain the respect of his boy ? And 
he valued that boy’s love and respect above almost every 
thing else in the world. Ah I if he could only tell Mira all, 
and let her woman’s wit aid him ! But he could not ; he 
dared not. There was no help on earth. He must extri- 
cate his own miserable self from this miserable slough. He 
seized the fatal trinket, and walked like a man in a dream 
out of the jeweller’s shop. He was bewildered, utterly 
dazed. Had not Amy Wharton died long before this girl 
of eighteen had come into the world ? Had she not died 
in that house on Houston Street on the very night of his 
own marriage? Had not her disembodied spirit staid 
with him all that miserable night? How, then, had this 
bracelet, his owm love-token in the bright days of yore, 
wheii Amy Wharton was all the world to him, come into 
this girl’s possession ? How account for the startling like- 
ness, the lovely violet eyes, whose exact counterparts he 
had last seen, faded and dim, in the wasted features of that 
dying woman in Ho. 44 Houston Street, looking at him so 
pleadingly, so mournfully ? This girl said she remembered 
her mother! Who was Esther Brandon? Where was 
Amy Wharton ? Over and over again, until they almost 
maddened him, these two questions repeated themselves. 

At last, the train was ofi*: he was actually in motion to- 
ward Chester. He had lived a century since he left it. 
How stupidly calm and placidly commonplace every thing 
looked on board the flying train, and he so wild with mis- 


42 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


ery ! Was this the same world, the same train, the same 
sort of people, he had come in contact with on his downward 
trip? — he, Philip Walworth, rich, honored, respected, 
placidly content with himself and the world. He felt 
benumbed. He was dizzy. Suppose he should have an 
apoplectic-fit from all this excitement, and get there too late 
to stop the wedding ! Monstrous possibility ! He shuddered 
to think that it was a possibility. Suppose any thing 
should happen to delay him beyond his time! Thump, 
whirl, crash ! — something had happened I 

Only the train tumbled over an embankment : nobody 
hurt. And every face there wore an expression of thankful 
gratitude at the universal safety, save one miserable, hag- 
gard face, that was pitiful to behold in its tortured anxiety. 

hundred dollars for a vehicle and a fast pair of 
horses to get me to Chester before eight o’clock to-night 1 ” 
exclaimed Mr. Walworth, frantically addressing himself to 
the crowd. 

“ Purty tight drivin’ ; but I’ll try you, mister. I’ve got the 
best team in this ere neighborhood. Make yourself easy 
for about ten minutes, and I’ll he back.” 

It was a wild-looking spot where the accident had hap- 
pened. Ho town near. Ho chance of telegraphing to 
Chester. It would probably he four or five hours before 
the damage to the track could he sufficiently repaired to en- 
able the train to proceed. His one chance to reach Chester 
was to stage it across country. 

The farmer who had taken his ofier soon returned with a 
light spring wagon and a pair of powerful-looking horses. 

“ If you kill your horses, I pay for them. For God’s 
sake, don’t spare them 1 ” 

Philip Walworth’s voice was hoarse from excitement. 
He filing himself into the vehicle, and relapsed into gloomy 
silence. 

Purty desperate case,” muttered the owner of the horses 
as he lashed them into full speed. 

Seven o’clock, quarter-past seven, half-past seven, and 
still no Philip Walworth. The carriages were at the door 
to convey the bridal party to the church. Anxious and im- 
patient, Alfred Walworth strode up and down the long 
drawing-room. A ring at the front-door hell made him 
start nervously. A servant entered, and handed him a tele- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


43 


gram. All the doubt and anxiety passed from his face ; and 
he hastened with it to his mother. 

“A telegram from father! The cars met with an acci- 
dent, and he’s staging it across country. Despatched this, 
I suppose, from the first office he passed. Says he’s unhurt. 
Telegraph-man evidently misunderstood one part of his mes- 
sage. Says at the bottom, ^ Stop the wedding : ’ of course 
father said, ^DonH stop the wedding.’ He knows the horror 
you women-folk have of any hitch in wedding arrange- 
ments. Come : it is time we were on our way to church.” 

Glancing hastily at the telegram, which laid at rest all 
her wifely fears for the safety of her lord, Mrs. Walworth’s 
hitherto-depressed spirits rose buoyantly ; and, crumpling 
the telegram in her hand, she hastened back to Essie’s 
room, where she sat arrayed for her bridal, looking whiter 
than her veil at the ill omen of any thing happening on 
this day of days. 

It is all right, darling. The cars ran off the track. 
But father is not hurt. He’s staging it across country. 
Was considerate enough to telegraph not to stop the wed- 
ding. Dear heart, he knew any postponement would make 
us foolish women miserable.” And, with nervous haste, 
Mrs. Walworth bundled the bridal party into the two car- 
riages waiting for them at the door. 

Solemnly the rich voice of the white-robed priest rang 
out over the hushed crowd that had been bidden to see 
Esther Brandon and Alfred Walworth made one, — 

Into this holy estate these two persons present come 
now to he joined. If any man can show just cause why 
they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now 
speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” 

A pause, — a decorous pause, for mere form’s sake, — a 
pause that was broken by hasty footsteps advancing up the 
aisle ; and Philip Walworth, pale and travel-stained, stood 
in their midst. 

forbid the marriage ! ” Clear and sonorous and unmis- 
takable the words that spread consternation throughout the 
assembled crowd, and made the stately form of beautiful 
Esther Brandon sway and quiver as a fragile lily sways 
before a rude wind, until her unconscious head rested 
against the white-robed bosom of the startled minister of 
God. 


CHAPTER yi. 


STORMY INTERVIEWS. 

A STORMY interview it was that occurred between Philip 
Walworth and his son after their return home. 

Bitter reproach, unbridled wrath, and unfilial denuncia- 
tion, on the part of the younger man ; unsatisfactory apolo- 
gies, stammering explanations, dogged determination, on the 
part of the elder. 

The dignity which springs from conscious rectitude failed 
the father in this trying time, and left him confused, abashed, 
sore distressed, in the presence of his angry first-born. 

My son, can you not believe me when I assert that only 
good and powerful reasons would have made me act as I 
did ? Will you not trust me that it was to save you from 
a monstrous alliance that I had to bring upon you this 
public disgrace, as you call it?’’ And Philip Walworth’s 
voice grew querulous from very helplessness. 

With a mighty effort to control his overmastering pas- 
sion, and speak calmly, Alfred ceased his angry pacing of 
the library-floor, and stood still before his father’s chair. 

“ Father, all I ask of you is a full and clear explanation 
of those ^powerful reasons’ you hint at so darkly. I think I 
have a right to know what they are ; and I demand them 
as my right.” 

“ A full and clear explanation I cannot give you, my 
son.” 

“ Is it any thing respecting Esther’s self ? ” He asked 
the question slowly and fearfully. 

Nothing. I believe that poor girl to be as good and 
pure as an angel from heaven.” 

44 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


45 


Did she not tell you, before she would even listen to 
my suit, that she knew nothing of her own early life?” 

‘‘ Yes,” — a sullen, reluctant yes. “ But I had no reason 
then to believe that her origin was any thing worse than 
obscure.” 

Alfred Walworth trembled visibly ; and his hand went 
up eagerly to loosen his cravat as he gasped for breath. 

“Father, spare me ! spare her, my pure darling, whom I 
love so dearly, for whom my heart aches so intolerably.” 
And for a moment the youth’s proud head was bowed upon 
his bosom, — for a moment onlj^ ; when, raising it again, 
Alfred Walworth looked his father defiantly in the face, as 
he exclaimed, — 

Father, I love Esther Brandon, — love her as a man 
loves but once in a lifetime. With her for a wife, life will 
be worth something ; without her, it will be a blank. I 
care not who nor what her parents were : she shall not suffer 
for their sins. It is her own pure self I love and covet. 
Let her dead past bury its dead. I love her so well, that 
I would esteem it joy to take from her the stained name 
bequeathed her by those who are dead and gone, and bestow 
upon her my own spotless one in its stead ; and all the re- 
ward I ask for what the world will call my sacrifice is to 
have her always by my side to cheer me with her smile, 
and bless me with her presence.” 

“ Blind infatuation ! mad passion ! Boy, I tell you this 
marriage cannot take place.” 

“ And, by Heaven, I swear that it shall ! ” Then from 
his father’s presence Alfred Walworth passed out, his heart 
full of parricidal wrath, his mind full of dogged determi- 
nation to marry Esther Brandon in spite of the world, the 
flesh, and the devil. 

“There is but one recourse left, — an appeal to the girl 
herself. It is hard lines ; but such is that boy’s infatuation 
and determination, that he will outwit me yet if I do not 
make consent on her part an impossibility.” Lifting his 
head from his bowed hands, where it had rested for several 
minutes in gloomy reflection, Mr. Walworth rang the bell, 
and bade the servant who answered it request Miss Bran- 
don to grant him an interview in her own room. 

His wife answered the summons. “ Miss Brandon has 
just succumbed to a succession of powerful opiates I found 


'46 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


it necessary to administer, Pliilip. Her nervous excitement 
was fearful. I thought, for an hour or two, convulsions were 
inevitable. Poor child ! she was as docile as a baby. All 
her cry was to let her go away and die of her shame. She 
would have left, night as it is ; but I quieted her by telling 
her she should start at daybreak. Our poor Mira is almost 
as wretched as she is. — And now, husband, what is this 
mystery ? I know, my Philip, your reasons for such ex- 
treme measures must have been good and sufficient, else 
you would not have brought such sorrow on our boy, and 
such scandal on the whole famil3^ As for the talk, that 
doesn’t amount to much ; but our poor boy, and that sweet 
girl ! What is it, husband, that has come between them ? ” 

Strange, that, after having lived a lie for twenty-five 
years, a spoken one should have cost Philip Walworth such 
a tremendous pang. But to his credit be it spoken that he 
suffered. 

‘‘Wife, while in Hew York, chance brought to my knowl- 
edge some information respecting this poor girl’s parentage, 
which convinced me that her marriage with our son would 
be to his everlasting misery. The time will come when he 
will bless me for that for which he now is ready to curse 
me. Even to you it is not necessary to go into painful de- 
tails. I have told you all that it is requisite for you to 
know. You must assist me in bringing Alfred to his senses. 
I believe that you can do more with him at this juncture 
than I can.” 

Gentle Mira Walworth asked no more. She had sublim-, 
est confidence in her husband. It had been enough, when 
he had said that their boy might marry this beautiful but 
penniless orphan, to make her consent to it with all her 
heart. It was enough, now that he said they could not be 
married, to make her oppose it with equal earnestness. She 
was what her son had called hei*, — nothing but “a wifely 
echo.” Her heart ached for her boy and for poor Essie : 
but she was ready to apply herself heart and soul to the 
task of convincing the poor young things that their con- 
templated marriage would have been the starting-point 
for both on the road to ruin; for Philip had said so, and 
Philip did all things well. 

A sleepless and a miserable night was that to all the Wal- 
worth household. The travelling-carriage had been ordered 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


47 


by daybreak to convey Miss Brandon back to Madame 
Celestine’s. Alfred had purposely been kept in ignorance 
of her contemplated departure, and was still tossing on his 
bed in restless slumber, when, ghostlike and wan, poor Es- 
ther glided from her own room, and strove to unbar the 
great front-door noiselessly. She panted to escape from 
this house, where this great misery had come to her, without 
having to go through the torture of farewells. But Philip 
Walworth was watching for her. He dared not let her 
leave his roof without having first rendered it impossible that 
she should ever again listen to vows of love from his son. 
He would have spared her if he could ; but an infernal ne- 
cessity commanded the sacrifice of this poor shorn lamb. 

Esther started like a guilty thing as his voice, harsh and 
unnatural from intense excitement, smote upon her ear. 

“ Miss Brandon, a few words with you I must have be- 
fore you leave.” And, slipping her trembling hand within 
his arm, he conducted her into the library, where, white 
and frightened, she sank upon a sofa, and waited for him 
to speak. He commenced abruptly : — 

For the pain I was compelled to inflict upon you yester- 
day, I beg your pardon ; but, when the Devil drives, needs 
must.” 

“ Why did you ever consent to this marriage ? that is all 
I ask to know.” The voice in which she spoke was dreari- 
ly cold and calm. She was so benumbed, that she gave no 
sign of her suffering. 

Because I respected and admired you personally.” 

Am I changed personally ? ” 

“ You are not. But, after I left you the other day, cir- 
cumstances brought to my knowledge facts that constitute 
insuperable obstacles to this union.” 

“ Will you tell me what those facts are ? ” 

I would spare you if I could. I luill spare you, if you 
will promise me, if you will take a solemn oath, that you 
will not listen to my son, should he try to entice you into a 
clandestine marriage, as I feel sure that he will.” 

“ I will promise nothing. I love your son, and he loves 
me. I told you, before I engaged myself to him, all my 
miserable story. You wooed me for him. I must have 
something more than your capricious will to deter me from 
trampling upon a heart honestly and trulv mine. God 


48 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


knows, I have not such a surfeit of affection that I can 
afford to throw away Alfred’s love.” And, for the first time 
since she fuid entered the room, lier supernatural calm broke 
up in a bitter smile more painfid than tears. 

^‘You tvill have the truth!” exclaimed the desperate 
father. 

“ The trutli, or nothing. Don’t he afraid that I cannot 
stand it : after last night, there is nothing I cannot stand.” 

The man before her was silent, anxiously seeking for 
words that would help him soften the horrible truth he 
had to tell this proud young thing. 

“ Speak ! for God’s sake, speak ! and do not torture me 
any longer.” 

“ Esther Brandon, from my soul I pity you, poor girl ! hut, 
until it is proven to me tliat you are the legal owner of the 
name you hear, a union with my son is impossible.” 

Then Esther Brandon rose majestically. Mr. W alworth, 
you have bereft me of my one holy memory ; and I curse 
you for it. I hope that you lie. May God help me to 
prove it ! ” And she moved toward the door as white and 
rigid as a statue endowed with the power of motion. 

Stop 1 before you go, your promise.” And he barred her 
passage to the door. 

I will give none. It is not likely that your son will 
ever seek me after you have told him the base tale you have 
just told to me. But should his love prove mightier than 
his pride ; should he come to me, and tell me that ray love is 
dearer to him than the world’s cold smile, — then I will go to 
him, and be his true and loving wife ; ay, as true and as hon- 
est and as loyal as though my pedigree were as proud, my 
name as stainless, as your own, cruel man ! I do not covet 
your gold, Philip Walworth. I do not covet the social po- 
sition 3n)ur son’s wife would attain. I am heart-hungry. 
My soul is starved for affection. And should Alfred prove 
loving and true, as you, his father, fear that he may, it would 
not be in me, ay, it would not be in any woman, to say him 
nay. So I will not peijure myself by swearing promises to 
3’ou which I could not keep in his dear presence.” 

‘‘ Slie leaves me no recourse. Nothing short of the whole 
truth will stop this thing.” 

Going close up to where Esther Brandon stood, Alfred 
AValworth’s fatiier bent over the girl, and, with white lips, 
whispered a half-dozen words in her ear. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


49 


She reeled, and would have fallen had he not caught her 
5n his arms. From that touch she recoiled in horror, 
looking at him with wildlj-staring eyes. 

“ How I loathe you ! how I curse you ! Cruel Heaven ! 
unjust God! How, indeed, do I know the meaning of 
the monstrous decree, that the children shall suffer for the 
sins of the fathers I ” 


CHAPTEE VII. 

A KEVERY. 

Back from the gay world of fashion Esther Brandon 
crept into her dreary little room at Madame Celestine’s, 
wounded, sore, well-nigh crushed. 

“ Poor little room ! she murmured as she threw her weary 
body upon one of its hard wooden chairs. ^^I used to hate 
you for your ugliness. I used to long for more space, more 
air, more beauty, in my surroundings. I fancied myself 
lonely, unhappy. I pitied Esther Brandon two months ago, 
sitting in yonder chair, because she knew nothing of the 
great world that her companions were prating of so eagerly 
and, joyously. I pity Esther Brandon now because she was 
so unwise as to leave this blessed asylum for an eager, un- 
satisfying glimpse of that same great world. The world 
has sent her back smarting for her presumption. And 
now what is there left to live for ? I did not repine because 
I was poor. I did not repine because I had to work. I 
did not envy other girls their happier lot. I don’t believe 
I thought much about it. I knew that I had to labor, and 
was ready to do so cheerfully. But then, at least, I was 
free from haunting memories. Now — ah! just God, is it 
right that I should have to slink through the world with 
bowed head and humble mien because of another’s sin? 
Have I not a place in the great human family that I may 
claim as my rightful heritage ? May not spotless virtue and 
stern integrity blot out the stain- that is none of my mak- 
ing ? It will be heavy work, up-hill work, single-handed, 
uneven, — a feeble girl against the world. But if God, 
60 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


51 


whom in my blind wrath I called a cruel and an unjust 
God, he not really a blind God of chance, he will pity me 
and aid me. The wise world looks askance at me now 
because of my poverty and frieiidlessness : the wise world 
vTould look aghast if it knew me as that man knows me. 
The wise world shall yet offer me the meed of its valuable 
homage and respect; and then I will show the wise 
world how I scorn its homage, how I spit upon its wisdom. 
How hard and cold and resolute I feel ! I doubt if any 
thing could ever make me shed another tear. Shall I grow 
bitter and caustic, like poor Mademoiselle Caprin down 
stairs ? I expect I shall : what’s to hinder ? Who knows 
what shocks her faith in her kind, or how many hard blows 
her once soft heart may liave received before she ossified? 
Will every one get to disliking me as they do her? Why 
not ? And what if they do ? Isn’t it a great deal better not 
to care for any thing in this world ? I loved almost everybody 
before I went to Chester ; and what did it profit me ? 
That trick of loving is a foolish, foolish one, tliat wise 
women will rid themselves of as quickly as possible. I am 
wise now, very wise, — grown wise in a single night ; and 
I’ll lock all the chambers of my heart up, and forget how to 
love. Memory, too, must be kept rigidly under. I will 
have no ghosts of dead loves, no ghastly reminders of what 
might have been, coming between me and the future I 
have to make for myself, to weaken my resolves, or taunt me 
with my wretchedness. My mother is dead : may God have 
mercy upon her soul ! The loving guidance of a father 
I have never known : therefore I shall not miss it in my hard 
fight. The love of brother or sister will never bless me. 
As for that other love, — that great, all-powerful, soul-satis- 
fying love, — I have tasted of that too, and found it to be 
but Head-sea fruit. I suppose it is possible for human 
beings to exist without aftection ; but it is a dreary pos- 
sibility for a woman. At any rate, fate has offered me a 
glorious opportunity of proving if it be a possibility or not. 
Before I went away from here, I had a silly little trick of 
talking very philosophically about my duties in life. What 
did I know of life or duties or philosophy then ? I was in 
the A B C of existence ; and now — wliy, now, I am a time- 
honored graduate. 

I shall make a splendid teacher now. I have no nerves, 


52 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


no feelings, to be rasped by indifference and stupidity. 
Teachers should be all head, and no nerves. I wish I could 
commence to-morrow. This inaction is maddening. It 
gives me too much time to think ; and I don’t want to 
think. I will not think. Meditation is a placid sort of 
enjoyment for placid people who jog through life at an even 
pace, in a smooth, well-trodden path ; but with a hideous 
past, a joyless present, an unfathomable future, why should 
a woman pause to think ? I want to be up and doing. 
Shall I prove a ‘ hero in the strife ’ ? or ‘ be like dumb 
driven cattle ’ ? Who knows ? ” 

Unnaturally bitter ! ” 

No, dear reader: naturally bitter. Place a woman in 
the world, loving, weak, naturally clinging, take out of her 
life all joy and affection, tell her to fight her own way, tak- 
ing from her every natural support to which her weak 
hands stretch out imploringly, leave her unsheltered and 
alone, and marvel not if for a little while she staggers 
along at an uneven pace, bitter and unlovely, repaying scorn 
for scorn, hatred for hatred, holding to the olden dispen- 
sation of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, rather than 
the later and more lovely revelation of the Golden Pule. 

More than half a dozen attempts did Alfred Walworth 
make to see his banished bride, but was always coldly 
denied. More than a dozen passionate letters, full of ardent 
protestations of undying love, and fond desire to make her 
his wife ill spite of every thing, were returned to him with 
unbroken seals, — poor Essie even denying herself the 
comfort of reading them : after which, with the proverbial 
justice of manhood, he took refuge in wholesale abuse of 
the sex; sneering with Pope, that 

“ Woman’s at best a contradiction still ; ” 
ready to indorse Moore’s spiteful dictum, — 

“ Away, away ! you’re all the same, — 

A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


DOWN ON NOIR.” 

Ma chere, this is too good a thing for you to throw 
away ; and Madame Celestine laid her plump white hand 
on Essie^s shoulder caressingly. I know this Mrs. Gold- 
ing. As a girl, she was my pupil ; and a sweet and win- 
some one she was, though not one of my brightest. She 
has little ones of her own now, who need an instructress ; 
and she writes to me, her old preceptress, to secure the ser- 
vices of some one who will be good and kind to her little 
children, whom she declares are rather unruly, more from 
lack of proper training than from had dispositions. You 
are looking badly, dear child. Your confinement as a 
teacher in my large school is much more severe than it 
would be as a private teacher. The Goldings are Southern 
planters, well to do ; and the fresh country air and food will 
bring back your fading roses.’’ 

Why should I care to bring back my fading roses ? 
Who cares to see them bloom ? But I will go to this Mrs. 
Golding. I like her letter. I know she is amiable and 
good, which I am not. I cannot do justice to my large 
classes. There is no life, no vim, in me ; and I fail to in- 
cite them to activity. With two or three little children, 
between whom there is no competition, I may do better. 
Yes, I will go to her. You may write her word.” 

Esther’s arguments in favor of acceptance, and her final 
decision to go, were all delivered in the same cold, hard 
voice and passionless manner which were the most marked 
characteristics of the new Esther Brandon. Two years of 


54 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


quiet monotony bad helped her to acquire an icy incrusta- 
tion wholly foreign to her true nature. 

The letter was written ; and an answering one came, con- 
taining minute directions for Miss Brandon’s guidance on 
her lonely trip. Bailroad and steamboat were to convey her 
to a certain point, at which Mrs. Golding herself would 
meet her with the carriage. 

It was just at the dawm of day when the steamboat upon 
which Esther had taken passage rounded to at her point of 
debarkation. The shrill whistle had succeeded in arousing 
two white men, half a dozen negroes, besides twice that 
number of hounds, who set up as dismal a yelping as if 
that steamboat- whistle had been their own death-knell. 

One of the sleepy-looking white men hoarded the boat as 
soon as the staging was thrown out, and, making his way 
toward the clerk’s office, inquired if a Miss Brandon was on 
hoard. An answer in the affirmative sent him backward 
to the ladies’ cabin, where, shawled and bonneted, Esther 
sat, very white and cold, shivering a little from the rawness 
of the morning air, and a little from sheer nervousness ; for 
every thing looked so cold and strange and dreary, and this 
first decided step out into the unfriendly world was such 
an uncertain one, that she could not take it without a little 
womanly shrinking, — a trembling apprehension of she 
knew not what. 

^^Miss Brandon, I believe,” said the young man, advan- 
cing rather sheepishly. Mrs. Golding requested me to see 
you ashore, and take charge of you until her arrival, which 
will he before very long, as she came in from the planta- 
tion last night to a neighbor’s, just a mile from the landing. 
We have a comfortable little wareroom on the bank, in 
which we shall have to entertain you until her arrival.” 

With a polite inclination of her head, and a cold Thank 
you,” Miss Brandon got up, and accepted his proffered arm. 
They were soon on shore. The staging was drawn in ; and 
the boat puffed and wheezed away to her next landing. 
Dreary enough was the first outlook of Louisiana that 
greeted Miss Brandon’s vision. Dimly visible in the cold 
gray dawn of a foggy morning in Eebruary stretched a 
flat plateau of land, thickly dotted with native trees, whose 
hare limbs shivered in their sparse clothing of long gray 
moss. Slowly and monotonously the great drops of mist 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


55 


pattered down upon the heaps of dead leaves that had 
drifted to their roots. Not a sign of civilization met the 
eye, save the rude wooden building that had been erected 
on the bank for the protection of freight put off in the 
night-time. To this shanty her stranger-escort conducted 
Miss Brandon, and installed her in the one chair it boasted 
of with the politeness of a Chesterfield. With nothing 
but sugar-barrels, pork-barrels, and her own dismal thoughts, 
to keep her company, Esther sat through two of the longest 
hours she had ever known; at the expiration of which time 
she was startled by hearing a shrill feniinine voice on the 
exterior of the little wareroom in conversation with her 
escort, who was smoking on the front-steps. 

“My teacher come, Mr. Wesley ? Good-morning! ’’ 

Mrs. Golding had a trick of arranging her sentences to 
suit herself, in reckless defiance of custom or rhetoric. 

“ Mrs. Golding, good-morning ! Yes, madam, the young 
lady is here.’’ 

“Young? Very young? Look good-natured? Where 
is she ? Take me to her.” 

“She looks very young,” replied Mr. Wesley. “As for 
her good nature, I’m not prepared to speak ; but an ogress 
would grow good-natured from daily contact with you.” 

“ You flattering boy, take me to the poor little thing. I 
know she’s tired enough of staring at your boxes and bar- 
rels.” This interchange of sentences had passed while 
Mrs. Golding was slowly alighting from her carriage, and 
mounting the warehouse-steps ; for Mrs. Golding boasted 
of her one hundred and eighty avoirdupois, in consequence 
of which she moved but slowly. 

The “poor little thing” rose to the full majesty of her 
queenly person as Mrs. Golding brought her ample propor- 
tions into her presence ; and, advancing with extended hand, 
she greeted her employer gracefully, but coldly. 

“ Bless you, child, don’t be so offish ! I like your looks. 
You are as handsome as a picture. Kiss me, my dear, and 
try to look upon me as a mother.” 

Something of Essie’s manufactured ice melted before the 
good woman’s sincere manner; and she stooped and gave 
the required kiss right cordially. 

Then Mr. Wesley helped both ladies into the carriage; 
and they started for the twenty-mile ride which lay between 
the landing and Mr. Golding’s plantation. 


56 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Mrs. Golding was a large woman, as I have before inti- 
mated ; and, as she filled a carriage-seat comfortably by 
herself. Miss Brandon took the front-seat. Both ladies 
were content with this arrangement ; for it afforded facili- 
ties for taking notes, of which they would have been de- 
prived sitting side by side. 

“Too handsome for a teacher,’’ was Mrs. Golding’s men- 
tal memoranda. “Ought to have plenty of money, so she 
could take that pretty face around, and break the men’s 
hearts with it. I’m afraid she’ll find it stupid enough at 
Locust Grove : must do all we can for her. Splendid fig- 
ure ! beautiful eyes ! hands white and soft as a baby’s, — just 
as useless too. I’ll be bound ! Hope she’s sweet-tempered : 
don’t like sour people. 

“Plain but amiable face. Voice painfully clear and 
loud. I wish she wouldn’t take it for granted that my 
hearing is defective. She will be kind to me : I feel sure 
of that. How very prominent her eyes are ! and such a 
faded blue! I wonderdf she’s ever had any trouble in her 
life. Ho : look at that placid, good-natured face, the merry 
eyes, the mouth so ready with its friendly smile. Trouble ! 
— she doesn’t even know the sound of the word. I’ll engage. 
I wish she wouldn’t plaster her hair with such torturing 
smoothness over her forehead, which is none too high at the 
best. I feel a frantic desire to run my fingers through it, 
and rumple it. But I like her, — I like her in spite of my- 
self. It’s troublesome to like anj'-body ; for then, when 
they deceive you, you have so much heart-work to undo. 
But I don’t think there’s much deceit in that plain, sweet 
face. I know she’s good, — just as good as she can be ; but 
I do wish she hadn’t made her dress upside down. It’s 
positively painful to see great long trailing vines, that Na- 
ture intended should droop, and look graceful, striving so 
frantically and ineffectually^ to clamber up to her waistband. 
How cross I feel ! I believe I’m hungry or cold, or some- 
thing’s the matter with me. Where’s my philosophy? 
Philosophers don’t have moods: they hunger not, neither 
do they thirst. Feeling cold is all in my imagination : phi- 
losophers don’t feel. Oh those vines, those vines 1 they’ll 
run me crazy yet. I won’t look at them : I’ll go to sleep.” 
In pursuance of which determination, she settled her head 
against the cushioned side of the carriage, and closed her 
eyes. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


57 


On through a monotonous stretch of country, where native 
woods .alternated with handsome plantations ; across bayou 
after bayou, spanned by bridges of heavy logs ; skirting 
around small inland lakes ; once again plunging into the 
woods, and finally re-appearing upon the banks of Le 
ISToir, — rolled the carriage, drawn by two fat, sleek carriage- 
horses, until Locust Grove, the Golding Plantation, was 
brought to view. 

“ Here we are at last ! ’’ sighed Mrs. Golding, who had 
put painful constraint upon her tongue for some time past, 
believing her young companion to be asleep. 

Esther opened her eyes, and stared out the carriage-win- 
dow, with hardly more interest in the gaze than she had 
bestowed upon the monotonous scenery they had been trav- 
elling through. 

An old-fashioned house, setting far hack in a yard filled 
with all sorts of shrubbery, was all she could see of her new 
home from the carriage-windows : but as the gates were 
thrown open, and they rolled rapidly up to the front-steps, 
she espied a group awaiting them that she could not help 
eying with some curiosity and interest; for her young 
charges helped form it. 

On the lower steps, waiting to assist them from the car- 
riage, stood the head of the family, Mr. Golding, a man of 
a physical tj^pe singularly like his wife’s. Light brown 
hair and beard; small kindly blue eyes; while the same 
pleasant smile played round his mouth that Essie had no- 
ticed in his wife. He was dressed in a pair of home-made 
attakapas pants, an old slouchy woollen coat, a vest which 
sported two white china buttons in place of the originals ; 
and upon his liead was an old black sugar-loaf hat, which he 
wore slouched over one eye in the most devil-may-care style. 
At his feet crouched two splendid liunting-dogs, staring with 
pleading eyes and longinglooks up into his face, as if beseech- 
ing him not to waste time on such insignificant creatures as 
two helpless women, when the woods were full of deer to be 
shot. On the step just above stood the two young Goldings, 
who had made a sort of outwork of their father’s broad 
shoulders, round which they peeped furtively at the “new 
school-’ooman,” as they denominated Esther, with bated 
breath, in awe-stricken whispers. 

Esther’s charges consisted of a Master and Miss Golding, 


58 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


aged respectively eleven and nine years of age. The fami- 
ly all seemed cut from one pattern, — the same sandy hair, 
small light blue eyes, and characterless mouths. Each 
child was attended by its own retinue of small darkies and 
pet dogs ; two darkies and a dog being the special at- 
tendants of the heir and heiress of Locust Grove at every 
turn they made, from the time they left their beds in the 
morning until they were tucked safely into them again at 
night. And no Highland chieftain ever was more jealous of 
the rights of clansman than was each small proprietor of 
the rights of his own sacred trio. 

Well, old woman ! back, are you?^’ And Mr. Golding 
held out both hands to assist the partner of his bosom to 
alight. 

Yes, old man ; hack, and hungry and stiff as an old foun- 
dered horse. — You Sarah J ane, get out of that door, and have 
breakfast on the table in a jiffy ! — Miss Brandon, father. — 
Children, come here and kiss your teacher. And mind you’re 
good and obedient to her. You just let me hear of your 
giving her any trouble, and you’ll have me to settle accounts 
with.” With this somewhat strident introduction, Mrs. Gold- 
ing made an ineffectual effort to lay hands upon her offspring 
by way of bringing them within osculatory distance of their 
new teacher ; but they skilfully eluded her grasp, and 
took refuge behind a high-backed settee, over whose edge 
they contemplated their governess with awful solemnity. 

I wonder if she whips,” whispered Frank in his sister’s 
ears. 

“ She don’t look like she did,” was the answering whisper. 

How do a whippin’ woman look ? ” demanded Frank in 
a sarcastic undertone. 

But Nannie had no answer to this ready : so, true to her 
feminine instincts, she took refuge in generalities. 

Are you glad she’s come. Buddy ? ” 

“ Glad ! No, Jimminy ! What’s a feller to be glad for ? ” 

Don’t you want to go to school and learn something ? ” 

No ! Huntin’s a heap jollier : now a feller can’t go, 
’sceptin’ on Saturday.” 

What’ll Dinah and Ailsey and Bip do while me is in 
school?” asked Nannie, thinking anxiously of the pending 
separation between herself and her three pets. 

I don’t know what Dinah and Ailsey and Kip’ll do,” 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


59 


answered Frank ; but I know monstrous well wbat 
George and Bob and Sway’s going to do.” 

“What?” 

“ They’re going to school with me.” 

“ I bet you ! ” 

“ I bet you again, miss ! Til show her ! ” And Frank sent 
a wrathful glance after the retreating form of their new 
teacher, who was wending her way toward the dining-room, 
accompanied by their father and mother. 

The Goldings were well-to-do planters. Mr. Golding made 
his five hundred bales of cotton, and owed no man a cent. 
Their menage was carried on on a plan of the most thrift- 
less expenditure. The wants of the body were bounteously 
supplied, while the mind and the soul were left in a starv- 
ing condition. 

Esther’s aesthetic tastes stood a poor chance of being 
gratified there. She loved music and flowers and paintings, 
and the beautiful in any shape or form. They looked upon 
such things as nonsense, and went in for the creature com- 
forts. Hence, with a house full of every thing that could 
contribute to the comforts of its inmates, it was perfectly 
void of any to please the eye or distract the mind. 

Esther took all this in during the dreary forenoon of her 
first day at Locust Grove. After their early dinner, she 
retired to her own room ; and, rolling a large chintz-cov- 
ered chair close to the window, she flung herself into it, and 
gave herself up to meditation, — a very unwise and un- 
philosophical move on her part. 

The day which had begun so drearily and grayly had 
grown darker and darker, until a regular storm seemed 
brewing. Black clouds began chasing each other across a 
leaden sky. Bumbling thunder was heard in the distance ; 
then nearer, and nearer still ; flash upon flash of lightning 
following in quick succession ; until with a grand crash of 
heaven’s loudest artillery, with the bowing of lofty trees, 
and whirl of the wind, the storm-king’s presence was 
announced. 

Fearlessly before her unblinded window Esther sat fa- 
cing the flashing lightning, and watching the trees bend 
before the resistless blasts of the wind. 

There were tender young pines, bending and swaying 
gracefully before the rude winds. There were fruit-trees, 


60 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


lying prostrate and helpless, crushed forever by the first 
blow of adversity. There were poplars, that creaked and 
shivered, and moaned aloud their protest against the 
storm-king for his ruthless handling. There were sturdy 
oaks, against which the tempest spent its fury in vain : 
proudly erect, sturdily defiant, they reared their majestic 
heads above the swaying, cringing, trembling crowd around 
them, grandly conscious of their innate power to do and 
to bear. 

Grand old oaks,” exclaimed Esther enthusiastically, 
^^^you have taught me a lesson. I will be no swaying pine, 
no prostrate, rootless sapling, no moaning poplar. I will 
be an oak, — a proud, defiant oak, against whose sides the 
storms of adversity may beat fast and furiously without 
conquering me. Come what may, I will rear my head 
aloft. I will defy fate. I will wring from an unwilling 
world the meed of praise and admiration which you in your 
unconscious indignity have wrung from me this day.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


A HANDSOME ANIMAL. 

I AM heartily tired of this nomadic life, Estella. 
How soon can you make your preparations to return to 
America ? ” 

The speaker was a man considerably past the prime of 
life. Tall, and as straight as an Indian, his height was 
exaggerated by his extreme erectness, and a certain con- 
stitutional meagreness, of which even the caterer for a 
Parisian table d’hote could not divest him. His features 
were classical in their perfect symmetry, — a small, straight 
nose, beautifully curved lips, arched eyebrows, and long 
silken lashes, — lashes that drooped, alas ! over a pair of per- 
fectly sightless eyes. As he lounged in his large arm-chair 
with listlessly-folded hands, his handsome head resting 
against the cushions of his chair, a casual observer who 
did not know him would have supposed him taking his 
after-dinner siesta, and would have looked for a sudden up- 
raising of the white lids, and the glance of a haughty eye, 
in consequence of any sudden noise ; for there was no un- 
sightly depression or contraction of the lids, — nothing hut 
a perpetual veiling of the windows of his soul. 

The person addressed was Mrs. Somers, the widowed 
sister of the blind Mr. Etheridge. A devoted sister she 
was too, tending lovingly and solicitously to all the blind 
man’s wants, — reading to him, writing for him, being eyes 
and ears and hands for him ; in consideration for which, she 
was amply supplied with the wherewithal to deck her 
handsome person in gorgeous array, and to educate and 


62 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


finish. ’’ her one child, a son, now two years beyond his 
majority, — the one creature on earth whom Estella Somers 
loved passionately and unselfishly. 

It had been many years, now, since a great heart-trouble 
had come upon her haughty brother, Koger Etheridge, 
driving him from his home in a passion of wounded pride 
and grief ; hearing which, she, a young widow then, with 
a bright-eyed boy of eight years of age, had converted her 
slender jointure into ready cash, had packed up her ward- 
robe and her boy’s, and followed this brother in his wander- 
ings, all unasked. When she came up with him finally, 
she found him in a critical condition in a small Italian 
village, dangerously ill of a brain-fever superinduced by 
mental anguish. Tenderly had she nursed him through 
this spell ; and when by reason of his constant application 
to study, whereby he hoped to smother bitter memories, 
the light gradually went out of his glorious brown eyes, 
Estella put her arms tenderly around the neck of her af- 
flicted brother, and promised to be all things unto him so 
long as they both should live. And for fifteen years, now, 
they had lived together, or rather roamed together, in placid 
content, Estella planning and proposing and executing, 
Mr. Etheridge passively acquiescent; for all things and 
all places were alike to him. The light and the joy had 
gone out of his life one bitter, black day in what seemed 
a far-away past ; and it recked him little what use he 
made of what he sincerely hoped would be a short remnant 
of existence. So his money made Estella and her boy 
happy, he cared little how much of it they spent. For 
nearly fifteen years, now, Estella had made every proposition 
for a new move which had been made, to which his in- 
variable answer had been, — 

Just as you please : one place is the same as another 
to me.” 

It is no wonder, then, that Mrs. Somers glanced up in 
unmitigated surprise, with something like a shadow of 
alarm on her face, when her brother so suddenly declared 
his intention of returning to America. 

Why, Koger ! what can this mean ? I thought you 
were perfectly content in these lovely apartments. Have 
you heard any thing from America to cause this sudden 
resolution ? ” and there was an anxious ring in the lady’s 
voice. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


63 


Content ! I am content nowhere,” was the bitter re- 
joinder. Passive indifference and contentment are two 
different things ; and as for hearing any thing from America, 
what is there for me to hear ? Who is there in America 
that even remembers my name, hut my overseers and slaves 
and commission-merchants ? What should I hear beyond 
the price of cotton and the chances of an overflow ? ” 

“ True,” replied his sister soothingly ; hut I was sur- 
prised by your sudden resolution into improbable conjectures. 
I will do just as you please, brother. Frederic and I are but 
grateful pensioners on your bounty, — a fact that we will 
not lose sight of” Mrs. Somers’s contracted brows, and the 
look of general dissatisfaction on her handsome face, were 
curiously at variance with her meek words spoken with 
sweet humility. But the blind man could hear, and he 
could not see. 

‘‘ I wish, Estella, you would not speak of yourself and 
Frederic as beggars. Has my ^bounty,’ as you choose to 
call it, been so churlishly extended as to make you feel your 
dependence ? ” And his voice was full of gentle depreca- 
tion. 

^^Hay, dear Boger, you are over-sensitive. I am sure 
your own wife and child could not have fared more gener- 
ously at your hands than my boy and myself.” 

A look of pain contracted the blind man’s broad, smooth 
brow. My own wife and child ! ” he echoed mournfully. 

Estella, do you know I sometimes fancy that I would have 
been happier in the long-ago, and now, maybe, if I had 
been less merciless ? Poor girl ! poor weak thing ! I well- 
nigh crushed her in my wrath. Tell me, sister, — you are a 
woman, and should know how to feel for a -woman’s weak- 
ness, — did I deal too harshly by her ? Did my implacable 
wrath kill her? Speak! it haunts me. I would gladly 
have some voice outside my own conscience tell me that I 
did right. But I see her poor white face ever before me ; 
I see her pleading eyes ; I hear her piteous wails ; I feel 
her clinging arms around my knees ; and then I see her, — 
I see her at my feet, cold, white, motionless, as I left her. 
Amy, poor, weak Amy ! why do you haunt me with your 
unearthly beauty ? why do I hear your beseeching voice, 
your pleading words, for ever and ever ? ” 

In strong agitation, the blind man had risen from his 


64 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


cliair, and was pacing up and down the familiar space of 
the long drawing-room. 

Laying down her work, Estella Somers rose; and, slipping 
one of her slender white hands within her brother’s arm, 
she spoke to him in that low, calm, musical voice which 
added so much weight to her words. 

Eoger, my brother, is it possible that you, an Etheridge, 
should look back with puerile regret upon the course you 
pursued in that miserable time ? You were grossly de- 
ceived by a beautiful adventuress : when the deceit she had 
practised upon you came to light, there was but one course 
open to you as a gentleman. That one course you pursued. 
Why should you regret it ? If the whole torturing time 
were to be gone over again, I should hang my head in 
shame if my brother could so far forget himself as to act in 
any respect differently from what he then did.” 

Her words had the desired effect. They hardened Eoger 
Etheridge’s heart again. True, true : why should I regret 
it ? Beautiful adventuress, lovely betrayer ! I did right ; 
I did right. Estella, a woman, says so. I would do it over 
again : of course I would. There was no other course 
open to a gentleman.” And he sank once more into his 
chair, wiping from his brow the great drops that his un- 
wonted agitation had wrought there. 

Mrs. Somers maintained a discreet silence. She was 
afraid to broach a new subject in her brother’s then frame 
of mind ; and she was afraid to continue the old one, hop- 
ing, by dropping it, that Mr. Etheridge’s suddenly-conceived 
desire to return to America might die for want of nourish- 
ment. 

But presently his voice, sharp and querulous to an un- 
wonted degree, again cut the silence. That is the very 
reason I want to return to America,” he resumed, as if in 
answer to some mental antagonist. ‘^This thing of running 
away from a trouble is all wrong. Just show the white 
feather, and it will master you. If I had staid right at 
home, and lived it down, and gotten used to the empty 
liouse and the silent nursery and the closed piano, it would 
have been wiser than to have run away and tried to forget 
that they ever had been. For I can’t forget it, Estella : 
they go with me, they follow me, they haunt me. Work is 
what I want. It is nothing but idleness that ails me.” 


AGAINST TUN WORLD. 


65 


poor brother,” broke in Estella’s smooth voice, 
what work could you do ? ” 

Not much, truly,” he replied sadly. “ But I have a fancy, 
that if I were on the plantation, hearing daily reports from 
my managers, ordering, advising, and correcting, life would 
seem a little more real than it does in this foreign atmos- 
phere, where I have no home, no interests.” 

On the plantation ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Somers in genuine 
alarm. Surely, Boger, you don’t propose burying yourself 
down on Le Noir? ” 

“ Where else ? ” asked her brother sharply. “ My home 
is on Le Noir; and I am tired of staying away from it. If 
it doesn’t suit you and Frederic to live there with me, you 
can suit yourselves as to a place of residence. I desire no 
compulsory companionship.” 

“Boger, how can you?” and Mrs. Somers’s voice was ten- 
derly reproachful. Do you think any thing could induce 
me to live apart from you, dear brother, my only relative ? 
I confess, after Paris, Le Noir will be something of a trial ; 
but, in comparison witli your happiness, every other con- 
sideration sinks into insignificance. Why, even Fred- 
eric ” — 

Who takes my name in vain ? ” and through the open 
doorway sauntered Mr. Frederic Somers, a young gentleman 
of twenty two or three summers. Dressed in the height 
of the fashion, polished from the crown of his natty hat to 
the soles of his patent-boots, twirling with dainty grace a 
small gold-headed cane, while one lilac kidded glove ten- 
derly caressed a silken mustache, Mr. Fred. Somers pre- 
sented a picture attractive in the extreme to his doting 
mother. 

He had inherited from his Etheridge ancestry his com- 
manding height, to which the coarser Somers blood had 
contributed weight and emhowpomt ; the two, combined, 
constituting a body fit for an athlete. His well-shaped 
head was covered with a thick suit of curly brown hair, 
presenting a decidedly Byronic appearance. His arched 
eyebrows, and straight, small nose, were inherited from his 
uncle. His flashing black eyes were dangerously handsome, 
albeit lacking the Promethean spark of intellect. The mouth, 
which the silken mustache half concealed, half revealed, 
was undeniably sensual in its full red proportions, but won- 
5 


66 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


drously fascinating with its bright, ready smile, and full 
complement of white and perfect teeth. 

■ Owing to his uncle’s munificent generosity, his educa- 
tional advantages had been unsurpassed. He had passed 
four years in one of the best colleges in Europe ; since 
leaving which, he had led a migratory life in company with 
his mother and his uncle. Nevertheless, just at this time, 
Mr. Fred. Somers’s pursuit of education was limited to a 
knowledge of the best brand of wines, the most famous 
racers, the pleasantest places to empty one’s purse at, the 
most desirable theatre to patronize, and like items of useful 
development. 

He declared boldly that his mother was the handsomest 
woman he’d seen in Europe, and lavished upon her a sort 
of admiring fondness, which, to her partial eyes, seemed 
the perfection of filial devotion. He considered his uncle 
a trump,” and managed to behave with a tolerable show 
of deference and respect while in his presence, which he 
took care not to be any too often. Books, and people who 
read or wrote them, he looked upon as bores, you know, — 
doosed bores,” — to be avoided on all occasions as one would 
avoid the cholera or small-pox. In short, Mr. Fred. Somers 
was scarcely more nor less at this time than a handsome 
animal ; and very handsome he looked as he sauntered into 
the presence of his mother and uncle, and threw his mag- 
nificent length upon a lounge near his mother’s work- 
stand. 

What’s that about Frederic?” he repeated, as he began 
leisurely divesting himself of his lilac kids. 

‘‘ I was just telling your uncle, my son,” and Estella fixed 
her boy’s handsome eyes with a steady gaze, which said 
plainly, Don’t contradict me ! ” ‘Hhat, where his happiness 
is concerned, both you and I are willing to yield our own 
wishes.’^ 

As his uncle’s happiness had never as yet clashed very 
disagreeably with Mr. Fred. Somers’s desires, it required no 
great moral effort for him to reply readily and gracefully, 
I hope that it is not necessary for us to go to work at this 
late day to convince my dear uncle of that.” 

“I should think not, truly,” rejoined Estella cheerfully. 

“ Thank you, my boy ! I shall soon put your amiability 
and your sincerity to the test. We return to America as soon 


AGAINST TEE WORLD. 


67 


as your mother can make her preparations to leave Paris. 
I want to settle down permanently on my estates in Louisi- 
ana.’^ 

^^The devil!” exclaimed his astonished nephew un- 
guardedly. But the sudden announcement that he was to 
leave Paris, and he buried on an obscure plantation in an 
obscure neighborhood in obscure Louisiana, was too much 
for his prudence or his careful parental training. 

What, sir ! ” began his uncle angrily. 

“You careless, careless hoy, to spill a whole bottle of 
cologne in my work-box ! But even such a mishap can 
hardly excuse your exceedingly inelegant exclamation.” 
The hastily-manufactured fib was for the blind man’s 
benefit : the savage glare, conveying reproach, admonition, 
and warning, all in one flashing glance, was for her unruly 
son’s benefit. 

“ Beg pardon. Pm sure,” said the handsome cub in a 
surly voice. “ It’s all one to me. Dem’d if I care where we 
live. Suppose I can have my horses and dogs down in the 
swamp ? I’m deused sorry to leave right now, though. 
Just fell in with some decent Americans to-day. Jolly set. 
Purty girl, and all that.” 

“ Who are they ? ” asked Mrs. Somers with that degree 
of interest which the mere mention of a fellow-countryman’s 
name inspires in a foreign country. 

“ Wal worths. Nice people too. Governor rich, though 
haven’t had much to do with him. Young Walworth’s my 
chap. Going it pretty rapid. Young wife don’t seem to 
fancy it much. Got a sister that’s an awful fine girl ! 
smart as a steel-trap, purty as a pink. I’m spooney on 
her : she’s tolerable sweet on me too. Give me two more 
weeks, and you bet your bottom dollar I make her say Yes.” 
And Mr. Fred. Somers’s hand went up tenderly, as was its 
wont, to his brown mustache, as if he placed liis chief re- 
liance upon that hirsute treasure for bringing Miss Mira 
Walworth to terms. 

“ Fred., have mercy on me, and try to construct a few of 
your sentences without the aid of slang. If you only knew 
how cordially I detested your present style of conversation ! ” 

“Let my communications be ^Yea, yea, Nay, nay,”’ 
laughed Fred, recklessly: “dem’d slow that would be, to 
be sure.” 


68 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


You are hardly likely to be accused of slowness,” said 
Mr. Etheridge. “ Is he, Estolla ? ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” ejaculated the young man. “But I 
say, mother, call on Mrs. Walworth, that’s a dear, and let’s 
join forces. I’d like to see lots of the little girl before I go 
hence, to he seen no more.” 

“ How do I know who the Walworths are ? ” demanded 
Mrs. Somers haughtily ; for pride of birth had grown with 
the growth, and strengthened with the strength, of Estella 
Etheridge, until she had come to think that the world held 
but very few worthy to be called her friends. 

“ Confound the Etheridge pride ! ” exclaimed the descend- 
ant of the Etheridges undutifully and angrily. “ I’m not 
prepared to say who Miss Mira Walworth is : but I can tell 
you who she may be, if she sees fit; and that is, Mrs. Fred- 
eric Somers.” And, without any farewell greeting, Mr. 
Frederic Somers got up, and stalked from his mother’s 
presence with offended majesty. 

“ Estella, that hoy is becoming overhearing. I think rus- 
tication on the plantation may do him good.” 

“ I never knew Frederic to speak so disrepectfully. It 
all comes from his infatuation with this American girl. I 
shall see her before I sleep.” 

“Do,” answered her brother bitterly; “for you know it 
may be another beautiful adventuress.” 


CHAPTER X. 

OUR OLD FRIENDS THE WALWORTHS. 

While Mr. Ered. Somers was expatiating on the charms 
of Miss Mira Walworth, that young lady, the same sweet 
Mira to whom I introduced you a year or two ago, was estab- 
lishing her title to be called a child of God : for does not the 
good book say, Blessed are the peace-makers; for they shall 
be called the children of God ” ? 

The Wal worths had been for two weeks, now, the occu- 
pants of a very handsome suite of apartments in the hotel 
at which the Etheridge party was sojourning. 

The occasion of their coming abroad was the failing 
health of the elder Mrs. Walworth. Very quietly and 
gently that good woman seemed to be fading away from the 
face of the earth. Very tenderly and anxiously her hus- 
band, that good man, Philip Walworth, watched and tended 
her. His face was not so bland and placid as we used to 
know : it wore an anxious air, a deep-seated look of care, 
that was easily attributable to the fact that he could no 
longer blind himself as to his wife’s increasing delicacy. 
What other source of anxiety could Mr. Philip Walworth, 
that perfectly just and correct man, have ? None, of course. 
Whom had he ever wronged? Nobody, of course. An ir- 
reproachable husband, a kind father, an honorable man, a 
good citizen, the world bowed to him. 

Their old family circle had been increased by the addition 
of a Mrs. Alfred Walworth within the last six months ; and 
the presumption is, they were all very happy. 

The bride that Esther’s whilom lover had eventually pre- 

69 


70 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


sented to liis family was a pretty little blonde beauty, an 
heiress in her own right, with no annoying and disreputable 
mysteries hanging over her name or history. Everybody 
knew who she was, when and where she was born, who 
christened her, and all about her : so this time, when Mr. 
Alfred Walworth had stood before the altar, the ceremony 
had been gotten through with quietly and respectably. No 
travel-stained father had stalked theatrically up the aisle, 
and forbidden the banns in a melodramatic voice ; no white- 
faced bride had bowed her stricken head upon the minis- 
terial robes ; no crowd of wondering, half-curious, half- 
frightened guests had huddled out of the church like a 
drove of sheep from the presence of canine marauders. 
The bride’s portly father, with a very red face and a 
very white vest, had stepped forward with pompous self- 
consciousness, cleared his throat sonorously, and given his 
daughter away to the son and heir of the rich Mr. Wal- 
worth. There had been two fathers and two mothers, and 
a host of cousins and uncles, to sanction the wedding. Al- 
together it was quite a different affair from that miserable 
abortion that had made wreck of poor Essie’s faith in her 
kind, and sent her back to her old home sore and smarting. 

And was she forgotten ? 

^M’m never going to speak to him again! — never, if he 
lives to be a thousand jmars old, and begs my pardon twice 
a day every day of that time I ” And Mrs. Alfred Walworth 
applied a very damp pocketThandkerchief to a nose whose 
symmetrical proportions had been somewhat marred by a 
long and violent spell of weeping, wiped it energetically, 
blinked her pretty eyes once or twice by way of making 
them look unconscious of the tears the}'' had just been so 
prodigal of, and looked defiance at the dog-irons. 

Mira looked as sympathetic as a kind heart, strongly at 
variance with a laughter-loving mouth, would permit of^ as 
she came over to the sofa where her wrathful little sister- 
in-law had deposited her five feet three inches of offended 
womanhood. 

Tell me all about it, Madge, and let me see if that 
naughty brother of mine is really deserving of so long a 
term in Coventry.” 

He don’t love me ; he don’t love me a bit ! ” wailed 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


71 


Madge, growing damp again; ^^and I don’t know what he 
married me for. I’m sure I didn’t ask him to ; and I’m sure 
I wish he hadn’t. I wasn’t bad off for offers ; and I know 
I couldn’t have married anybody that would have treated 
me crueller; ” and the poor, used-up handkerchief was called 
into active requisition once more. 

“ Maggie, for mercy’s sake stop crying, and state your 
cause of grievance in plain terms. It pains me to the quick 
to see you and Alfred at variance. You ought to be happy 
with him. It is true, he is not the bright, cheery sort of 
a boy he bade fair to be before — well, before he came of 
age : but he is a man of very strong feelings ; and, if you 
only manage him rightly, you would make both him and 
yourself much happier than at present you seem likely to 
be.” 

Manage him ! — me manage Alfred ! ” replied Madge, 
scornfully repudiating grammar and the idea with a finely- 
executed sneer. might just as well try to manage the 
Grand Mogul ! ” 

don’t exactly mean ‘manage’ as wives generally un- 
derstand that word, little sister ; for I think any display of 
attempted authority would end most disastrously. But I 
think you’ve watered the plant sufficiently now: suppose 
you try a little sunshine.” 

Madge wasn’t quick at figures of speech : so she just 
said, with a pout of her full, red lips, “ I don’t know what 
you mean, I’m sure.” 

“I mean,” said Mira, “that that man never lived who 
could be cried into loving his wife. It seems a grave charge 
for a wife of only six months’ standing to bring against 
her husband, ‘ that he don’t love her a bit ; ’ and you know 
best upon wdiat it is founded : but speaking from general 
knowledge of the sex, and especial knowledge of Alfred’s 
nature, the cheerful course is sure to be the best.” 

“You’re not a wife,” sighed Mrs. Alfred Walwortli; 
“ and it is impossible for you to enter into my feelings.” 

“No; and, if I see much more of married infelicity, the 
chances are that I never will be a wife,” answered Mira 
tartly. “ Your tears and Alfred’s frowns are rapidly making 
me a convert to the theory, that there is such a thing as 
single blessedness.” 

“ Anybody could be happy with you, for you’re an 


72 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


angel; but Alfred’s a monster!” sobbed Madge ratber ir- 
relevantly. 

“ Still dealing in generalities,” said Mira, whose patience 
was well-nigh exhausted. have asked you twice this 
morning to tell me what it is that poor A1 is to beg pardon 
for twice a day for a thousand years.” 

Well, I’ll tell you all about it,” answered Madge with 
sudden cheerfulness, superinduced by the comfortable feel- 
ing of having a story to tell. And, assuming a sort of 
once-upon-a-time look, she began : — 

^"^Ever since we have been in this wicked Paris, Alfred 
has been getting more and more indifferent to my society. 
You know yourself, Mira, how he keeps on going about 
with that horrid Mr. Somers.” 

Monsters, both of them ! ” was the jesting interpolation. 

^^Yes, they are,” resumed the plaintiff energetically; 
and I think I’ve put up with it like an angel. I hate 
that Mr. Somers ! yes, I do ! He’s not content with going 
into all sorts of dissipation himself, but must come leading 
other women’s husbands into them.” 

“When it is considered that the accused is neither a hus- " 
band nor ^ other women,’ your remarks could hardly be re- 
sented as personal,” said Mira. 

“ That’s right : laugh at me, of course. I could hardly 
expect any sympathy from his sister. If I were you, I’d 
wait until he comes in, — which will be some time after 
midnight, I suppose, — and enjoy your laugh together.” 

“ Hush, Madge 1 and go on with your story : I am exceed- 
ingly interested in it.” Mira was resolutely determined to 
preserve her good humor. 

“ In the Somers part especially, I suppose.” 

A rose-tint spread over Mira Walworth’s pretty face; 
but she did not answer in words. 

“Well, as I was saying, there’s no^ knowing what those 
two creatures do do when they get out of my sight, nor 
where they go.” 

“ Alfred’s appearance does not bespeak any great degree 
of dissipation; and I am sure he has been very kind in 
taking us sight-seeing. Do you want him tied to your 
apron-strings all the time ? ” 

“I contend, that, after a man is married, his wife has a 
perfect right to know exactly how he spends every minute 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


73 


of his time, and to go with him too. And last night, when 
I saw Alfred making ready to go somewhere, I asked him 
where he was going ; and he told me he was going out with 
some gentlemen, (gentlemen ! that meant tliat horrid Som- 
ers !) And then I told him that I hadn’t asked him whom he 
was going with ; I had asked him where he was going : and 
he said coolly, that he was not sure I would be benefited 
by the information. Then I began to cry ; for you know, 
Mira, he hadn’t any business to answer me that way ; and 
I told him, if he didn’t tell me where he was going, I would 
sit up in the open window all night long, and try to get my 
death of cold. And then the monster seized his hat, and 
told me, if it was any satisfaction for me to know it, he was 
going to — O Mira ! I’m almost afraid to repeat the word : 
he said he was going to — he-hell ! ” 

Mira looked pained, hut not quite so shocked as a cor- 
rect young lady should, as the naughty word came mincingly 
through Madge’s rosy lips. 

That was shockingly rude in Alfred : I am afraid you 
teased him into it. But I fancy he said a hell.” 

A hell ! I never knew there was hut one before,” 
exclaimed innocent Madge ; though I should think these 
wicked French people might neeu a dozen.” 

A hell, Madge, means a gambling-house. They are mag- 
nificently fitted up; and, as Alfred and Mr. Somers are 
doing Paris, we will not he so puritanical as to ostracize 
them for looking into these places.” 

A gambling-house ! looking into them ! ” shieked the 
afflicted wife, clasping her small white hands tragically 
together. How do I know he only looked into them ? 
How do I know he isn’t betting away every cent of his 
money, and mine too, at this identical moment ? ” 

Alfred never touched a card for gambling-purposes in 
his life,” answered Miss Walworth haughtily. 

But that horrid Mr. Somers ! how do you know he won’t 
make him play ? He looks as if he were up to everj?- thing 
had.” 

“At least, pay your husband the poor compliment of 
thinking he can get up his own escapades. I should rather 
think him an independent scamp of the first water than a 
humble imitator of other men’s follies.” 

“ What shocking sentiments, Almira ! ” And Mrs. Wal- 


74 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


worth, junior, bestowed upon her sister-in-law her full com- 
plement of syllables by way of accenting her own virtuous 
indignation. 

I know they’re not exactly orthodox,” laughed Mira; 
^^but they’re genuine, nevertheless.” 

Then Madge returned, with tliat persistency which only 
a certain class of females, best described as adhesive wo- 
men, are capable of, to her hobby grievance. 

At least, Mira, you will agree with me, that it was very 
rude of Alfred to answer me so, and that he ought to beg 
my pardon for it.” 

I agree with you cordially as to the rudeness. It was 
so rude, that I think Alfred must have been exasperated 
beyond endurance to have so far forgotten himself. Was 
there no anterior cause for his ill humor to your unwise 
persistence in knowing where he was going ? ” 

Nothing that I can think of. Yes, there is, too. But 
that was so ridiculous ! You know that picture of you and 
an old schoolmate of yours, taken together, that Alfred 
says he prizes so much, because it is the only picture extant 
of you in your teens. Well, I was laughing at it, because, 
you know, the dresses look so funny and old-fashioned now ; 
and I said that the other girl’s face looked as solemn as one 
of those nuns — what do they call them ? — that have to dig 
a spadeful of earth out of a grave every day. And he grew 
quite tart in defence of the old picture.” 

Poor A1 ! ” murmured Mira softly. Does it rankle 
yet ? ” 

But it doesn’t matter what made him mad. He’ll have 
to beg my pardon before I speak to him again. He came 
home right penitent last night, and spoke to me very amia- 
bly as soon as he got in the room. But I pretended I was 
sound asleep, and didn’t answer him ; and this morning I 
showed him that somebody else had a temper as well as 
himself.” 

0 Madge, Madge ! it is evident you’re bent on work- 
ing your own domestic ruin.” 

“ I am bent on nothing,” answered Mrs. Alfred loftily, 
“but teaching my husband to treat me with proper respect. 
I repeat, he will have to beg my pardon before I ever speak 
to him again.” 

The door opened, and upon its threshold stood the culprit. 


AGAINST THE WORLB. 


75 


He looked older and graver than two years’ interval of time 
would have led one to expect : there was a hard look about 
his mouthj and a harshness in his eyes, that did not natu- 
rally belong to him. He advanced towards his wife indiffer- 
ently. No contrition for having offended her, no pleasure at 
the prospect of a speedy reconciliation, shone in his coldly 
passive face. He laid a morocco box down on the table 
before her. 

I believe I was unconscionably rude to you last night, 
Margaret ; but I suppose that will make it all right.” 

With hands tremulous from eager excitement, Madge 
undid the fastenings to the box, opened it, and uttered an 
exclamation of delight as her husband’s flashing apology was 
brought to light. 

Oh, how beautiful ! 0 Alfred ! you precious old darling ! 
How could you imagine that I was pining for a set of topaz ! 
— Come here, Mira, and look.” 

Mira came, smiling a little contemptuously, albeit well 
pleased that her brother’s topaz had effected a speedy peace 
where her own pearls of wisdom had been thrown away. 

Hold them, sister, while I give the dear old darling a 
hug ! Was ever a woman blessed with such a jewel of a 
husband ? ” 

Mr. W alworth submitted to the process of being kissed 
on his lips, eyes, tip of his nose, and both cheeks, with ami- 
able stoicism; and, when his ecstatic wife returned to the 
contemplation of her flashing jewels, he brought the bow 
of his neck-tie round to its normal position with a jerk, 
took out his cigar-case, lighted a weed, gave one or two 
satisfied puffs, then took it from his mouth to give his sister 
an item of information. 

Mi, Somers’s mother will call on you ladies during the 
course of the day. I fancy she’s coming on a reconnoitring 
expedition.” 

“I told you so!” ejaculated Madge with an air of tri- 
umph. 

^‘Told me what?” asked Mira, who looked very pink. 
“ That Mr. Somers was a horrid wretch, who was ” — 

But a small hand was put over her mouth, and an implor- 
ing Hush ! ” brought her sentence to an abrupt close. 
And Alfred Walworth resumed his cigar, declaring to him- 
self that the female sex, as a body, was composed of heart- 


76 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


less, brainless creatures, whose sorest smart could be healed 
by a timely application of jewels and gewgaws ; and any man 
who was unhappy in his domestic relations had only him- 
self to thank for a miserable blunderer who did not under- 
stand the manufacture nor the timely application of topaz- 
salve. 


CHAPTER XI. 


TREATS OF BUSINESS-MATTERS. 

If the Walworth ladies were not overawed, when, on the 
evening of the day in question, Mrs. Somers came in state 
to make the acquaintance of her country-women, it certainly 
was not Mrs. Somers’s fault. 

She had donned her stiffest silk (and manners), paying 
the minutest attention to all those elegant little details of 
the toilet that finish off a fashionable woman, as the last 
faint touches of the painter’s brush give tone and richness 
to a handsome picture. 

Mrs. Somers was certainly very fair to look upon. She 
had the Etheridge height and aristocratic bearing. Her 
features were a softened reproduction of her brother’s, with 
the addition of a pair of large, lustrous gray eyes, that fas- 
cinated you while they froze you. Bold, indeed, must be 
that mortal who could long sustain Mrs. Somers’s inquisi- 
torial stare without flinching. Nothing but a very clear 
conscience, supported by nerves of steel, could carry one 
successfully through the ordeal. 

She was going, she informed her brother on leaving 
her own sitting-room, on a tour of inspection, — to see if 
those Walworths were fitting associates for her son Frederic. 
She could not have him affiliating with nobodies simply 
because they chanced to be countrymen. 

She had come, she informed the Walworths (after her 
son had made her acquainted with the three ladies in rather 
a bungling style), to enjoy the pleasure of intercourse with 
her fellow country-people, whom Frederic had raved about 

77 


78 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


so ceaselessly, that lie had made her quite anxious to know 
their party. i 

The three Walworth ladies, refined, elegant, and easy in 
their manners, met with her inward approval ; and when, 
during the course of conversation, Mrs. Walworth, junior’s, 
maiden name transpired, Mrs. Somers grew radiant. She 
knew the Briggses (Maggie’s mother was a Briggs) ; knew 
all about them, — who they were, and what they sprang from. 
The Wal worths must be all right, else an alliance with a 
Briggs scion never would have been permitted. With such 
a sudden illumination thrown upon the subject, Mrs. Somers 
returned to the investigation of the young lady in whom 
Fred was so particularly interested. The Briggs alli- 
ance proved their respectability. Their present style of 
living proved the possession of means. The girl was pretty 
and bright. Fred might do worse ; at least, a certain 
degree of affability could he profitably invested. Having 
come to which conclusion, Mrs. Somers brought all her fas- 
cinations and her magnificent eyes to bear upon Mira indi- 
vidually. Now, as Mira’s nerves were not of steel, nor her 
conscience perfectl}’’ clear in the matter of Mr. Fred Som- 
ers, she did not hear the scrutiny unflinchingly. 

Women are curious creatures j the best and wisest of them 
given to forming the most unreasoning and unreasonable 
attachments, — attachments which, once formed, the powers 
combined of heaven and earth cannot make them relin- 
quish. 

Before Alfred Walworth had introduced Mr. Fred Som- 
ers into his family-circle, he had satisfied himself of the 
young man’s social standing, and had announced to the 
ladies of the party that the young gentleman had requested 
this introduction; adding, by way of comment, “Somers 
seems to he a gentlemanly fellow, with more money than 
brains. He’s companionable, however, and will make 
rather a desirable addition to our tolerably slow party.” 

No one had been particularly excited over the coming 
man at the time of Alfred’s careless mention of him ; nor, in 
fact, was it until he had constituted himself her own especial 
and devoted cavalier, and had been in constant attendance 
upon her for more than three weeks, that a slight indisposi- 
tion, occurring to keep him from her side for two or three 
days, aroused Mira to the fact that she had allowed this 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


79 


handsome young Hercules, with nothing but his flasliing 
eyes, his insolent mouth, with its ready smile and dazzling 
teeth, to beguile her heart from her keeping. 

Then, woman-like, she fell to manufacturing an ideal 
Fred Somers upon the handsome foundation of the real 
Fred Somers; and so artistically did her loving fancy 
work up the rather coarse material Nature had furnished, 
that I doubt if the young man’s doting mother could have 
honestly indorsed the article as genuine. 

Mr. Somers, and Messrs. Walworth, senior and junior, had 
been enjoying their freedom and cigars on the balcony in 
front of the Walworth’s private parlor during Mrs. Som- 
ers’s visit to the ladies. 

A visit, by the way, which promised to be more moment- 
ous in its consequences than was wotted of hy any of that 
careless group. 

When, by the law of etiquette, Mrs. Somers’s visit had 
reached its proper limits, she signified to her son by a 
graceful wave of her fan that she had remained as long as 
fashionable regulations would permit. Through the open 
French window the three gentlemen stepped, in obedience 
to her signal. 

“Mother,” said Mr. Somers, “I’ve been talking to my 
friend Walworth here about our Louisiana home, which I 
think so doosed slow ; but he says he has been thinking 
seriously of purchasing land down South. Seems he dis- 
likes Chester about as bad as I do the Oaks. But I 
think, if we could get some civilized neighbors down on Le 
Noir, a fellow could stand it for the few months we’ll have 
to be there every jmar. What do you say ? is there any 
chance of his bu3ung near uncle’s ? ” 

“It is to be hoped, Mr. Walworth,” said Mrs. Somers, 
directing her reply to Alfred, “ that your dislike for Chester 
has a better foundation than my son’s for the Oaks. He 
was only eight years old when we left America; and what 
little he knows of the old homestead is through business- 
letters received by my brother. It is true, the neighbor- 
hood, like all other neighborhoods in the planting districts, 
afibrds but few opportunities for gayety of any description, 
owing to the slenderness of the white population. I do not 
think there are a dozen white families within a radius of 
twenty miles or more. The Oaks, now my brother s estate, 


80 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


is a grand old place, beautiful in its location, but remote 
enough from the outside world to make it rather undesirable 
as a permanent residence. It is the wish of my poor brother, 
however, to return there, and settle permanently ; and no 
wish of his is ever disregarded by Frederic or myself.’^ 

Here Mira made an entry on the balance-sheet of Mr. 
Fred Somers’s perfections. 

“ Speaking from a business-point of view, Mrs. Somers, 
would you advise any one wishing to invest in cotton-lands 
to visit your neighborhood ? ” It was the elder Mr. W al- 
worth who asked the question. 

There are none better in the South,” replied Estella 
promptly : and, if you are really in earnest in making the 
inquiries,” she continued, I am, curiously enough, in re- 
ceipt of a letter this morning from my brother’s agents 
(you know,” she added parenthetically, that, owing to Mr. 
Etheridge’s blindness, I am his business-woman), informing 
him that a plantation adjoining the Oaks, known as ^Bel- 
ton,’ is about to be sold under mortgage ; and my brother’s 
agent wrote to know if he should buy it in. My brother 
expects to return to America so immediately, that we have 
not considered it necessary to reply to the letter.” 

Then Mr. Walworth made a great many inquiries re- 
specting Belton, its location, its improvements, its price, &c. ; 
concluding with the remark, that, as long as Alfred had 
grown so sluggishly indifferent to the professional course he 
had mapped out for him, he knew of no more respectable 
way of leading a life of perfect uselessness and indolence 
than by becoming a Southern planter : therefore it was very 
probable Belton would find in him a purchaser. 

Mrs. Walworth, senior, seemed to take this exposition of 
their family-matters as something of a slur upon her first- 
born : so she put in hastily, sotto voce to Mrs. Somers, who 
occupied the same sofa with herself, ^^Our most powerful 
reason for wishing Alfred to leave his cold Northern home 
is for Maggie’s sake. She is exceedingly delicate ; and, 
although no actual malady has as yet developed itself, phy- 
sicians have told us that her chances for longevity will be 
trebled by removing her to a warmer climate.” 

Mrs. Somers glanced toward the window, where Madge 
sat, a little apart from the family-group, gazing out on the 
busy Paris streets with animated abstraction ; and noting 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


81 


the transparent skin, the delicate tracery of the blue veins 
upon the temples, she remarked, that Mrs. Walworth did 
indeed look like a fit subject for consumption : she had never 
seen any thing quite so fragile. But none of the Briggses 
ever had had any constitution ; at least, the female mem- 
bers of it.” 

After that, a little more business-talk, a few more com- 
monplaces, and the Somerses took their departure, clasping 
hands with all the Wal worths successively in token of good 
will and amity for all time to come. 


CHAPTER XII. 


^^THE WHIZZING LOOM OF TIME.” 

The dog-days had come. The air quivered with its bur- 
den of heat. Not a leaf could muster the energy to stir in 
the sultry atmosphere, except the ever-tremulous foliage of 
the cotton-wood, that kept up a deceitful rustling, tantaliz- 
ingly suggestive of breezes that were not. 

Esther Brandon’s little wooden schoolhouse presented 
something of a contrast to the luxurious apartments in which 
her whilom lover was idling the summer-days away. The 
sun shone down upon its roof with fervid radiance, blister- 
ing its whitewashed exterior, casting burning eyes on the 
rough floor through great knot-holes in the walls, sending 
luminous rays through cracks in the roof for the dust and 
the motes to waltz in, glaring insolently through the un- 
shuttered window, playing derisively around the dusty little 
stove, that stood its ground summer and winter, as who 
should say, “ What do you think of me as a heating appara- 
tus ? ” But one idea pervaded the atmosphere, — it was hot ! 
But one observation was made with any degree of feeling, — 
it was hot ! 

More than once had Master Prank Golding entered an 
indignant protest against the enormity of keepin’ a feller 
diggin’ at hooks when his brains was a-hoilin’ j ” and, as he 
sat as close to the door as Essie’s rather rigid school-disci- 
pline would permit, his eyes wandered wistfully from the 
uncongenial hook in his hands out to the river-hank, where 
congenial Rip, their great black Newfoundland, had just 
proceeded for the purpose of taking a plunge-bath. A splash 
82 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


83 


and a flounder; then, after a little while, Rip re-appeared, 
dripping and refreshed, shook himself once or twice, trotted 
cheerfully toward the schoolhouse, hounded up the steps 
with the assurance of a privileged visitor, laid himself down 
at Frank’s feet, and looked compassionately up into his poor 
little red face, evidently pitying the biped who had to study, 
and couldn’t take plunge-baths. 

“ I wish I was a dog ! ” exclaimed Frank fretfully, push- 
ing the damp rings of hair away from his flushed forehead. 

Miss Brandon glanced up in dignified surprise from Nan- 
nie’s copy-book, where “ pot-hooks ” and hangers ” were 
staggering about in an astonishing fashion, as if too much 
debilitated by the heat to maintain their equilibrium, and 
asked, in tones of grave reproof, — 

Why, Frank?” 

“’Cause then I wouldn’t have to study in such plaguy 
hot weather ! I wouldn’t do nothing but swim, and gnaw 
hones ! ” 

It was evident that books were at a discount, and hones 
at a premium, with both Frank and Rip. 

Essie read her refractory pupil a clever little moral lec- 
ture on the enormity and foolishness of his wish ; and then, 
heaving a sigh of mingled languor and discouragement, she 
turned her attention once more to Nannie’s tipsy callig- 
raphy. 

The young Goldings had both grown quite fond of their 
beautiful teacher in the four months she had now been with 
them, albeit she kept them somewhat at a distance. She 
was firm, but just ; gentle, hut frigid : and used as they 
were to being half under, half over, their fond, weak parents, 
they looked up to this stately lady, who never swerved one 
iota from a declared determination, as an entirely different 
order of being, and respected her accordingly. 

“ Miss Essie,” said Nannie, looking up timidly, and hush- 
ing her voice as if half startled at her own boldness, “ don’t 
you never get tired of nothing ? ” 

“ Yes, Nannie, I get very tired of your villanous gram- 
mar.” 

“I don’t mean that. Miss Essie,” pursued Nannie, em- 
boldened by the suspicion of a smile that lurked around her 
teacher’s mouth. “I mean tired of every thing, — tired of 
this old hot schooboom, and these hard old chairs, and the 


84 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


old books, and tbe flies and things. I know I do ; oh, so 
tired ! ” and Nannie brought a very inky Anger across a very 
shiny nose, substituting ink for perspiration, not with the 
happiest result. 

If I give you a holiday for a whole week, do you think 
you would come back to your lessons a little fresher ? ’’ 

Frank and Nannie both thought that a week’s rest would 
recuperate them so entirely, that Miss Essie would never 
hear another murmur from their lips. 

^^Well, we’ll ask mother and father what they think of it 
when we have flnished to-day’s task.” 

“We know what mother and father will say; don’t we, 
sis ? ” exclaimed Frank triumphantly. 

To which Nannie returned an assured response. Even 
Rip partook of the sudden cheerfulness, giving Miss Bran- 
don an approving wink, and rapping his tail energetically 
upon the floor by way of registering his vote in favor of the 
holiday. 

So when the little schoolroom was locked up for that day, 
and Essie and her two study-worn charges returned to the 
house, the proposition was made to the heads of the house- 
hold, and cordially indorsed. 

“ I think Miss Essie needs a rest twice as much as you 
do, you lazy little scamps, you !• and I’m only too glad to see 
her taking it.” Mrs. Golding was the only comfortable- 
looking thing about, as she sat in her large wicker rocking- 
chair, clad in the coolest of linen blouses, waving a huge 
palmetto-fan. 

“ Let’s have a picnic ! ” suggested Nai^nie, who, being of 
a lawless turn anyhow, looked upon a picnic — where folks sat 
down on the ground, and got full of bugs, and ate with their 
Angers, and tumbled over things generally — as the acme of 
human enjoyment. 

“ A good chance, mother, to show Miss Essie our show- 
place,” suggested Mr. Golding, who was swinging, in lazy 
enjoyment of his home-netted hammock, near the spot where 
the rest of the family were grouped on the veranda. 

“ That’s a fact. Miss Essie ! You’ve never seen the Oaks ; 
have you? We’ll have the picnic in Mr. Etheridge’s 
woods, and we’ll invite Miss Gaily to the picnic : so that will 
give you a chance to see the house and grounds too ; and 
they’re well worth seeing, I tell you ! ” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


85 


As Esther had no interest in the Oaks, the Etheridges, or 
Miss Gaily, she gave a rather languid assent to all the prop- 
ositions put forward so eagerly by vivacious Mrs. Golding. 
But her employers were so very good to her, so affectionately 
interested in her welfare, that Essie was gradually learning to 
feel an honest affection for them, founded upon respect and 
gratitude ; and could not hurt them by refusing to join their 
party. 

“ Who is Miss Gaily ? ” she did muster the energy to 
inquire. 

To explain away the fact, that, at the end of a four-months’ 
residence on Le Noir, Miss Brandon should have been 
totally ignorant of the fact that a Miss Gaily ” lived and 
breathed, and had her being, within six miles of Locust Grove, 
will necessitate a rather lengthy description of the state of 
society in the Le-iNoir neighborhood. 

Life down on Le Noir could hardly be called life : it 
was respiratory stagnation. The ^^Le-Noir Settlement,” as it 
was called, comprised about a dozen plantations, clustered 
together in one of the most fertile districts of Louisiana, hav- 
ing for a focus a little wooden church, picturesquely situated 
in a dense grove of live-oaks on the border line of the Ether- 
idge estate, where, on Sundays, the upper-ten and the lower- 
ten of the parish met together on terms of spiritual equal- 
ity. For, although they were all subjects of King Gotten, 
there are planters, and again other planters ; Mr. Etheridge, for 
example, being a “ big planter,” and Mr. Golding a small 
planter.” The inky little stream of Le Koir, which formed 
a connecting link with the outside world, was a river of such 
limited capacity, that it was only during certain stages of 
the water it was navigable. During the two-thirds of the 
year that it was not, the dwellers upon its banks had either 
to be content to lose sight of the outside world temporarily, 
or else travel by land in private conveyance to a certain 
landing on the banks of the Mississippi Eiver, which we 
already know of as Miss Brandon’s point of disembarka- 
tion. So you see Nature was disposed to throw all sorts of 
obstacles in the way of any frivolous Le Noirite who was dis- 
posed to ^^gad” too much. Notwithstanding these natural 
drawbacks, the Goldings and the Eobinsons and the Mel- 
villes lived and throve and married, and brought young 
Goldings and Eobinsons and Melvilles upon the world’s 


86 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


great stage, placidly content witli their surroundings ; sub- 
limely unconscious of the fact, that to breathe freely is not to 
live. The outside world they looked upon simply from a 
commercial point of view. It was necessary as a place of 
export and import. They sent their cotton to it ; and it sent 
them all sorts of creature-comforts in exchange. A yearly 
trip to New Orleans on the part of the master, and, once in a 
great while, a visit from the mistress, who spent weeks before- 
hand in profound mental abstraction Over her list of wants, 
was all the outside world saw of the small planters of Le 
Noir, who looked with bigoted disapproval upon the big 
planters of the neighborhood, who couldn’t stay at home 
the whole year through, not if it was to save them.” There 
was actually no general social intercourse. Everybody knew 
everybody, and was very cordial and pleasant in the event 
of a funeral or wedding bringing them all together ; but so 
Mrs. Golding saw her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Eobinson, 
once in six months, and Mrs. Melville saw her next-door 
neighbors, the Smiths, during the same space of time, their 
social cravings were amply satisfied. The husbands said, 
maliciously enough, that they guessed it was better so ; for the 
less they saw of each other, the smaller their chances of quar- 
relling, and the better their chances of continued friendship : 
but then the best of men are prone to sacrifice veracity for the 
sake of a spiteful fling at us women, you know. Now, as the 
Etheridges were big planters, and the Goldings were small 
planters, there was little or no social communication between 
the two. In fact, for fifteen long years there had been no 
call for such communication ; the family having been away, 
and the house having been left in charge of Miss Gaily, a poor 
relative of the Etheridge family, who looked upon her in- 
stalment as housekeeper in the grand old house at the Oaks 
as an especial dispensation of Providence in her favor. 

Eor fifteen years, now. Miss Gaily had reigned absolute 
monarch of the yard domains, her social cravings meeting 
with entire satisfaction by intimate association with the wife 
and sister of the agent for the estate, who resided in a cot- 
tage about half a mile from the “ big house,” and a semi- 
annual visit to Mrs. Golding to see if she was beating her ” 
in the matter of garden, dairy, or poultry. She and Mrs. 
Golding were the very best of friends ; always kissed most 
emphatically when chance brought them together : and what 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


87 


"better illustration of true affection between two women could 
you have ? 

As this semi-annual visit had just been paid before Essie’s 
arrival, and the social code of Le hToir had not yet impelled 
Mrs. Golding to return it, Miss Brandon had not yet come 
in contact with Miss Gaily. 

But the Fates were about to bring them together through 
the instrumentality of a picnic in the woods, — the first break 
in the absolute monotony of life which had come to Essie. 

And thus, while the Walworths and the Etheridges whiled 
away these same dog-days in that luxurious indolence and 
sesthetic enjoyment within the reach of those alone who 
have taken thought of the morrow, and filled their purses plen- 
teously with scrip, Esther Brandon was patiently plying 
at the whizzing loom of time with her weak, girlish hands, 
uttering no audible moan against the world that had treated 
her none so kindly, gradually and unconsciously bringing 
together in a gray-hued weft the tangled threads of more 
than one life-web. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


, MISS CALLY. 

A VERBOSE communication, beginning at the beginning, 
and setting forth all the whys and wherefores of the picnic, 
dictated by the kindest of hearts, penned by the most un- 
skilled of hands, conveyed to Miss Cally’s astonished senses 
the information that the Goldings were about to make an 
effort in the social line, in which her co-operation was cor- 
dially invited. 

She was to come and ‘‘ bring a basket ; ” to all of which 
she returned the cheerfullest of assents. Le Hoir boasted of 
a character, as well as a show-place : Miss Cally was the char- 
acter, and the Oaks was the show-place. 

At the time when Roger Etheridge’s great life-trial had 
come upon him, driving him in tortured haste to seek obliv- 
ion in foreign parts, he had written abruptly for his sister, 
then a new-made widow, to come and take possession of the 
handsome home he had fitted up in fond anticipation of 
wedded happiness within its elegant precincts. Mrs. Somers 
had come. After spending about a year in it, Mrs. Somers 
had seen cause to follow her brother in his wanderings, as 
we have already seen, and, in her turn, wrote abruptly for a 
distant relative of the Etheridge family. Miss Cally Hen- 
derson, a maiden lady, whose homeless condition and limited 
income Estella felt sure would incline her favorably toward 
the proposition. 

She had not been wrong in her conclusions ; for Miss Cally 
had obeyed the summons to come and live at the Oaks with 
cheerful alacrity ; and there she was. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


89 


On the morning set apart for the picnic, the spring wagon 
had been called into requisition to convey Mrs. Golding, Miss 
Brandon, the two small Goldings, two large darkies, four 
small ditto, half a dozen mysteriously-covered baskets, that 
emitted ravishing odors of fried chicken, fresh bread, &c., 
to the grove selected for the entertainment. 

Mr. Golding hoisted the last basket over the side of the 
wagon, and stepped back with an air of good-natured satis- 
faction, at the same time giving the order to drive on.” 

You’re coming too, father ! ” and Mrs. Golding’s kindly 
face clouded with disappointment ; for, at the expiration of 
twelve years of married life, Mr. and Mrs. Golding were still 
lovers. 

“ I’ll be along about dinner-time. Am going to bring the 
doctor with me. Tell Miss Cally the poor fellow’s pining for 
a sight of her face.” 

Thus re-assured, Mrs. Golding allowed the wagon to move 
off with its living cargo of light hearts and smiling faces. . 

The perpetual sunshine that pervaded the Golding atmos- 
phere was gradually telling upon Esther Brandon. She felt 
its genial influence, albeit unconsciously. The grove was 
reached ; and, while Mrs. Golding took upon herself all the 
cares of hospitality, Esther, with a delicious sense of freedom 
pervading her whole being, wandered off alone into the cool 
depths of the neighboring woods. 

In native grandeur the forest monarchs reared their proud 
heads, dreading nor time nor man. Fearlessly myriad birds 
twittered and sang amid their leafy fastnesses, knowing noth- 
ing, and fearing less, of cruel huntsmen. Wise-looking squir- 
rels brought their bright black eyes to bear inquisitively upon 
the graceful intruder gliding through their domain ; for it 
was rarely that any thing more light-footed than the home- 
ward-bound cows, or more graceful than the cow-boy trudg- 
ing behind them in his red-russets, came under their obser- 
vation. 

The little footpath that Esther fearlessly followed was 
nothing but a track made by the cattle going to and from an 
outlying pasture : hence the infrequency of human intrusion. 
A faint fragrance from the sweet-gum trees pervaded the air, 
perfecting the young girl’s enjoyment as she rambled aim- 
lessly on through the dim aisles of the forest. 

Suddenly, and with hardly the forewarning of an inter- 


90 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


veiling rood of ground, she once more found herself within 
the pale of civilization. A worm-fence of fresh new rails 
gleamed unexpectedly through the green branches of the 
trees. Approaching it nearer, Essie discovered that it 
wriggled in an irregular square round about an acre of 
land, enclosing and protecting a substantially-built negro- 
cabin. A small gate of roughly-cut pickets — supported on 
either side by ponderous posts, whose caps, fantastically 
carved, and painted a garish green, bespoke artistic tastes on 
the part of the inmates — led into this enclosure, and, by a 
grass-grown footpath, up to the cabin-steps, which were com- 
posed of two. square-hewn blocks of wood, one twice as large as 
the other. A rough frame-work, supported by two sapling 
posts, and thatched with dried branches of trees, shaded the 
rustic doorway, in which sat, busily knitting a coarse yarn 
sock, an old negress. Very old and very withered she looked, 
clicking her needles rapidly and mechanically as she kept a 
sharp lookout over her cabbage-bed and potato-patch to see 
that the chickens did not molest the one, nor the pigs come 
marauding in the other. 

Aunty, I’m very thirsty. I believe I’ve walked farther 
than I intended to. Will you give me a drink of water? ” 

Miss Brandon was leaning over the little picket-gate as 
she sent her voice up the grassy footpath to where Aunt 
Dinah sat in her hide-bottomed rocking-chair. 

Aunt Dinah was old ; and her eyesight was that dim, that 
she could not distinguish features at any distance. But she 
could see that it was white folks ; ” and the sweetly-spoken 
Aunty ” betokened the lady : so, with the ready flattery of 
her race, she called out in answer, — 

Lord love yo’ purty face, mistris ! Come in an’ res’ yo’- 
self w’ile I draws some fresh water fo’ you.” 

Nothing loath to rest a while before starting back on her 
two-mile walk, Esther passed up through the little garden, 
and entered the cabin, whose humble belongings were as 
clean and nice as plenty of home-made soap and water 
could make them. Aunt Dinah had bustled out the back- 
door as the young lady entered and took possession of the 
vacated chair near the door. The old woman returned pres- 
ently with a great, big, creamy-looking gourd, brimming 
over with water cool as ice, and clear as crystal. It took 
both of Essie’s little bits of hands to hold the rustic vessel 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


91 


comfortably while she imbibed a long and refreshing draught. 
Her sun-bonnet had fallen back as she drank, thus fully 
revealing her beautiful face to view. 

Thank you, aunty ; your water is delicious ; and she 
carefully handed back the gourd, still half full, to its 
owner. 

But Aunt Dinah made no motion to take it from her 
hands ; instead, she was staring her full in the face, in 
a queer, half-frightened fashion. So they stood for the space 
of a second. Then the old woman spoke : — 

“ Little mistris, who brought you back, honey ? ” 

From where, aunty? FTobody brought me from any- 
where. You’re mistaking me for somebody else.” Essie 
spoke with the kind precision of voice and manner one 
uses in talking with the half-demented ; for there was such 
a strange glitter in the old woman’s black eyes, that she 
fancied her ^^not quite right.” 

Ain’ this Mars’ Boger’s daughter ? ” And the withered 
black face was brought close to Esther’s, which grew a 
shade whiter than usual, either by contrast, or from alarm. 

Who is Mars’ Boger ? I’m certainly not his daughter ; 
for I never even heard of him. Here: take your gourd, 
aunty, and let me go.” 

Unheeding her request, old Dinah pursued her close 
scrutiny of Essie’s features. 

Ef ’tain’t marster’s purty wife’s child, it’s her ghos’ ! 
Dar’s her own eyes, wat looked like they was always ready for 
cryin’ ; thar’s her purty white skin and her red mouth. But 
she’s dead; wen’ away and died : an’ her little un, po’ little 
chick ! dead too ; and t’other one. Miss ’Stella say it’s dead 
too. All gone, all gone ! Po’ Mars’ Boger ! ” She had 
maundered off into soliloquy, standing there before Essie, 
with her yarn stocking in her left hand, and her palsied 
hand shading her eyes from the glare that came through 
the open doorway, as she took her rigid scrutiny of the 
young lady’s fair face. 

It was only when Esther rose to her feet, and, flinging 
the water still in the gourd out on some thirsty-looking 
cypress-vines, hung it back on the nail just outside the 
door, that Aunt Dinah aroused herself from her dream of 
the past. 

Who is you, little mistris, then ? I ’d like to know 


92 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


de name of the purty lady that has such a favor of my 
sweet young mistris, wat^s dead and gone/’ 

My name is Brandon/’ answered Essie, kindly humor- 
ing her. 

And does you live anywhar near this, honey ?” 

I live at Mrs. Golding’s. I teach her children.” 

There was an immediate and perceptible change in Aunt 
Dinah’s manner. The Goldings ^^was small folks;” and 
she belonged to big folks : ” hence she occupied a higher 
position in the social ladder than her pretty visitor ; for 
the rung to which she was one of the appurtenances was 
very far above the Golding rung. The young lady said she 
was a teacher. A teacher was a school-marm. School- 
marms were poor white folks, who didn’t own nary nigger.” 
Being white folks, they were entitled to respect, but not 
to reverence. In consequence of which there was the 
faintest suspicion of patronage in Aunt Dinah’s voice, as 
she replied, — 

^^’Twar jus’ a chance favor to Mars’ Roger’s wife, then. 
She was a purty one, sho’s you born. But so is jmu, chile ; 
so is you, — a rale handsome young lady.” 

Essie thanked her for the compliment ; and, bidding her 
good-by, she started to retrace her steps to the spot where 
she had left the picnickers, when Aunt Dinah’s voice ar- 
rested her steps. 

Young missy, didn’ you say you was a school-marm ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the rather curt rejoinder ; for Miss Brandon^ 
to her shame be it recorded, winced at the appellation. 

“ From up in the free country, whar the niggers’ frens 
live ? ” 

Yes ; from the North.” 

“ Well, missy, would you min’, once in a while, cornin’ to 
see a ole nigger, an’ fetchin’ yo’ good book along wid you, an’ 
readin’ to me ? I’se got somethin’ on my min’, chile, — some- 
thin’ that lays monstrous heavy, an’ drives the sleep away. 
I’ll tell it to them as ought to Iniow it, honey, ef de Lord’ll 
let me live to set eyes on Mars’ Roger ’fore I dies. But 
I’se gettin’ oler and oler every day, missy ; an’ it skeers me 
to think of going widout tollin’ somebody all about it. 
An’ I thought as how the good book would tell me jes’ 
wat to do. Will you come, chile, an’ help a poor sinful 
nigger wat’s fumblin’ in de dark, an’ don’t know the road 
to de light of Jesus’ day ? ” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


93 


More than ever convinced that her withered hostess was 
demented, Esther hastily gave the required promise, and 
once more plunged into the depths of the words. 

“ There comes Miss Essie, at last ; and now we can eat 
dinner,^^ was the first sound that greeted Essie^s ears as she 
neared the spot that Mrs. Golding had selected for the 
dining-room. 

Miss Gaily, Miss Brandon,’^ was Mrs. Golding’s polite 
greeting as she made those two ladies acquainted with each 
other with a formal little wave of the carving-knife that she 
held suspended over a turkey for dissecting-purpose. Up 
from the root of a tree sprang Miss Gaily with the agility of 
a kitten, advancing with frank cordiality to Essie, with 
both hands extended. 

Howdy do, my dear ? glad to make your acquaintance ; 
hope to fall as much in love with you as my friends the 
Goldings have. Shake hands. I’ve got another name be- 
sides ^ Miss Gaily ; ’ but I guess Mrs. Golding don’t know 
what it is. Don’t make any difference, however. I don’t 
care what they call me, so they call me in time for dinner : 
that’s my philosophy.” 

With an amused smile, Esther complied with her request 
to shake hands, and cordially grasped Miss Gally’s little 
bird-claws in token of good will. 

You’ll do,” said Miss Gaily, this ceremony gotten 
through with ; you’ll do ! You knowhow to shake hands. 
There’s more in the shake of a hand than many people 
know of. When I offer to shake hands with a body, and he 
or she, as it may chance to be, lays a lifeless lump of flesh 
into my palm, with no more nerve in it than a gutta-per- 
cha doll, and waits for me to shake it, I say to myself, Wou 
are nothing but a lifeless lump of flesh yourself ; not resolu- 
tion enough about you to crook your five fingers ; I’ve got no 
use for you ; ’ and I drop the lump as I would a piece of raw 
liver. Then there’s the bear-grip. It don’t mean much, 
either. Innocents like you might mistake it for an indica- 
tion of tremendous appreciation and friendship. But it’s 
a mere physical contraction of the muscles, peculiar to some 
hands, which would close with the same spasmodic fierce- 
nesss of affection around your hand or a pump-handle. 
There is, again, the insinuating clasp, — a lingering, lan- 
guishing, feverish sort of clasp, which speaks volumes more 


94 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


than the truth. The warm fingers insinuate themselves 
lovingly around your digits, pressing tliem ever so tenderly ; 
and you think to yourself, ‘ How very glad he or she (as the 
case may be) is to see me ! Ihn afraid I haven’t half val- 
ued his or her honest friendship : ’ while, bless your soul, 
child ! all the time, if it’s a man, beware ! he’s fooling 
thee, he’s fooling thee; while, if it’s a woman, she is just 
holding on to you until she’s taken stock of all you’ve got 
on. But you shake hands just right ; you close your fingers 
responsively, as if willing to meet folks half-way ; and you 
know when to let go, which everybody don’t. You’ll do, or 
my name isn’t Calliope Henderson.” 

Thus indorsed, Essie seated herself by this oddity from 
the Oaks, feeling as if she had known the little lady from 
time immemorial. 

Miss Cally was exceedingly diminutive in stature, and so 
quick and spry in her movements, that she constantly made 
one think of a little brown hedge-sparrow, hopping about 
daintily and briskly, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh 
air, and the fiowering beauties of the lovely earth, as God 
intended them to be enjoyed by man and birds. When 
young and fresh. Miss Cally must have been pretty. Her 
features were good enough ; and her bright black eyes 
beamed upon the world full of the kindliest charity. She 
was bright and sweet-tempered in the extreme ; and it was 
a never-ceasing marvel, to those who knew her sterling 
worth, that Miss Cally had never married. 

For celibacy in a woman, I take it, is looked upon as an 
indication of some mental, moral, or physical inferiority : 
for, of course, there’s not that woman living who wouldn’t 
have married if she could ; voluntary celibacy being pe- 
culiarly a masculine prerogative. 

Why Miss Cally had never married was a secret, which, 
with all her sex’s communicativeness in full blast within 
her, she had yet managed to preserve intact. 

One bold inquirer she had, once upon a time, extinguished 
with the pertinent reply, — 

“ Why I’ve never married, I take it, is my business, and 
nobody else’s. If I couldn’t find anybody to suit me when 
I was young, and simple enough to believe the men were 
creatures of superior mould, it’s hardly likely I’ll find one to 
my taste now, since I’ve come to know them for what they 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


95 


are, — one half tyrants, and the other half slaves. I wouldn’t 
give a snap of my finger for a man that would let me man- 
age him ; and, on the other hand, I’ve no notion of being 
managed : so I concluded to let well enough alone. ‘Better 
bear the ills we have than fly to those we know not of : ’ 
that’s my philosophy.” 

And she had acted faithfully up to her philosophy; and, 
judging from her sunshiny face, the ills she had were not 
so very unbearable, after all. 

Frank’s gross definition of the day’s fun was the eating 
part : so his fun had to be still farther postponed, as it was 
not until a full half-hour after Essie’s return that the male 
element of the party made its appearance in the persons of 
Mr. Grolding, and Dr. Sparks, the physician of the neigh- 
borhood, and hence well known to every Le Noirite. 

“ Land of liberty ! ” exclaimed Miss Cally. “ There’s old 
Santa Claus! What’s brought him out here to-day?” 

“An irepressible longing to see you, Mr. Golding told 
us, Miss Cally,” said Essie, while an amused smile at the 
aptness of Miss Cally’s comparison flitted across her mouth; 
for, indeed, good old Dr. Sparks, lumbering heavily toward 
them out of the buggy that had creaked and groaned under 
his weight all the way from Locust Grove, did look most 
astonishingly like Santa Claus, relieved, for the summer, of 
his packs. 

“ An irrepressible fiddlesticks ! ” said Miss Cally with a 
toss of her short front-curls. “ Mrs. Golding, if you don’t 
train that husband of yours into treating my name with 
proper respect, I won’t answer for it that I’ll not pull his 
ears for him.” 

“ Why, Miss Cally, the dear old man has his heart set on 
making a match between you and the doctor. He thinks 
the world and all of the doctor; and says, almost every 
time he comes home from that dismal little cottage of his, 
he wishes some good woman would take pity on him, and 
marry him. Don’t you think you could take him into con- 
sideration?” and Mrs. Golding looked in such hard earnest 
over the unique proposition to marry the doctor off in spite 
of himself, that Miss Cally burst into the merriest peal of 
laughter, — such infectious laughter, that even the stately 
Miss Brandon fell in with it. 

“Bless my soul, it does a body good to come up with 


96 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


such merry souls ! ’’ and good Dr. Sparks waddled round, 
shaking hands with everybody in a may-we-all-be-happy 
fashion. 

“ Precious old poultice ! he has no notion that he’s afford- 
ing the merriment,” whispered Miss Cally confidentially to 
Essie. ^^But, ^ where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be 
wise : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

From which you will perceive that Miss Cally was a 
proverbial philosopher. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


THE OAKS. 

And now, friends and fellow-citizens, if youVe played 
squirrel long enough to satisfy the most uncivilized among 
you, I propose that we all adjourn to my house, and finish 
the day like Christian folks, sitting in chairs, and drinking 
our coffee with pecans instead of spiders in it.” It was 
Miss Cally, who, scrambling up from the grass at the con- 
clusion of the dinner with the agility of the animal she had 
likened them all unto, made the above-recorded proposition 
in a fourth-of-July voice. 

There was not a dissentient murmur. 

Shall we walk, or ride ? ” resumed Miss Cally. “ IPs hut 
three-quarters of a mile through by the short-cut, if we 
walk ; and iPs very nearly two miles round to the big gate. 
But iPs the prettiest through.” 

Let us walk, please,” said Essie. I am anxious to see 
the beauties of the place.” 

Which will you do, doctor ? ” asked Miss Cally briskly of 
that heaving mountain of fiesh, as it slowly, with the aid of 
a cane and Mr. Golding’s stalwart arm, recovered a standing 
position. 

Well, Miss Cally, as I feel strongly inclined toward a 
cup of your celebrated coffee this evening, and as I also feel 
a positive conviction that my own powers of locomotion 
would not be equal to the walk, I think I shall ride, — if I can 
get company, that is.” 

In the end, every one but Miss Cally and Esther conclud- 
ed to ride around by the long way: so the two ladies 


98 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


started off by themselves, Miss Cally promising her guests 
they should find her ready to welcome them. The woods 
through which the short-cut led them were merely a contin- 
uation of the forest through which Miss Brandon had ram- 
bled in the morning. As they walked, Essie told hliss 
Cally of her adventure of the morning with the old negress. 

“ That’s old Dinah,” explained Miss Cally, the stock- 
minder’s wife. She’s in her dotage now;, and I don’t sup- 
pose she knows half the time what she’s saying. Before I 
came here, they tell me, she used to be one of the house- 
servants. I suppose §he was df^iissed from active service 
on account of old age. They ^y she used to be one of 
Cousin Boger’s favorite slaves.” 

“ There’s my place ! What do you think of it for an old 
maid’s hall ? ” They had come in sight of the mansion- 
house by this time ; and Miss Cally drew the attention of the 
young stranger to the stately pile with pardonable pride. 

The house set in the centre of a park-like enclosure, sur- 
rounded on its four sides by an impenetrable hedge of the 
glossy-leaved bois d’arc. The grassy lawn that sloped gen- 
tly away from the mound upon which the building stood was 
composed of closely-shaven bermuda, not a break occurring 
in its smooth green surface. Aged oaks, venerable box- 
elders, spreading mulberries, and stately poplars, covered this 
space at irregular distances from each other, shading a wind- 
ing carriage-drive that led up from the big white entrance- 
gate. The house was surrounded by artificial terraces, three 
in number, the construction of wTiich had cost time, labor, 
and money. But Boger Etheridge had never been the man 
to take those things into consideration when he had an ob- 
ject to gain. He had set out with the determination to 
make his home beautiful, and had very fully accomplished 
his object. Three separate flights of stone steps led up to 
the main door. At the top of each flight stood great white 
marble vases filled with brilliant-hued verbenas, that ran 
riot in their own loveliness, and tumbled in bright cascades 
over the sides of the vases. Parterres of flowers brightened 
the terraces, and were kept in the most perfect order by 
faithful Miss Cally, who loved the flowers for their own 
bright sakes in the first place ; and, in the second, declared 
her determination to keep every thing about the premises in 
perfect order, so that she should not be ashamed of her stew- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


99 


ardship at any moment those wandering Jews,” Roger and 
Estella, should choose to claim their own. 

Miss Gaily led her guest up the stone steps, describing, 
explaining, pointing out particular beauties, calling her at- 
tention to this glimpse of the distant river through openings 
in the trees, then far away again over the snowy cotton- 
fields to where the little white church-spire peered at them 
frorn the grove they had just quitted, with the delighted ani- 
mation of a person very much in love with her own pos- 
sessions. 

Isn’t it pretty, my dear ^”^nd the little sparrow brought 
her bird-claws together, put her small head upon one side, 
and looked at Esther with an air of assured satisfaction, as 
if therejcould be but one answer to her question. 

Pretty is not the word ! ” said Esther enthusiastically. 
‘Mt is ’perfectly grand ! And to think its owner should be 
■^o callously indifferent to its beauties ! ” 

^^JSTot so fast, my dear; not so fast. Poor Roger! He 
wasn’t indifferent, I guess ; for you see it was the work of 
his own hands, as you might say. Nature wears a very mo- 
notonous aspect in this good old State of ours : so the aesthet- 
ically inclined have to manufacture their own scenery. If 
Roger had squatted his house flat on the natural ridge, 
where would have been the grandeur ? But he spent a mint 
of money on this place, and lived in it for four or five piti- 
ful little years. They say it nearly tore his heart-strings 
to give up his home. That trouble of his — But there’s 
no knowing, at this late day, which was to blame. ^ Judge 
not, lest ye be judged : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

But come into the house, my dear. There’s only twen- 
ty-two rooms in it for me to drag my poor old bones around 
and see after.” And Miss Gaily carried her poor old bones up 
the front-steps with a spryness that put Miss Brandon’s 
more stately movements to the blush. 

A broad veranda, whose roof was supported by numerous 
massive columns of the Ionic order of architecture, surmount- 
ed by a richly-ornamented cornice, surrounded the house, 
which was long and low and rambling. Branching off from 
the broad entrance-hall were dark oak doors, leading, on 
the one hand, into the parlors, richly and tastefully furnished ; 
and, on the other, into the library. 

“ And now,” said Miss Gaily as she threw open the door 


100 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


of this room with a flourish, I feel sure jmu can mahe 
yourself content here while I go off and order the coffee I’ve 
promised those folks in the wagon; which, by the way, I 
hear creaking ^its slow length along.’ Make yourself at 
home, my dear. I don’t doubt you’ll find yourself in your 
natural element in here with the books.” And, without any 
more ado. Miss Cally closed the door on her guest, and trot- 
ted away to the supervision of her Christian banquet. 

Esther found herself in a long room evidently run- 
ning the full length of the house. A dark, rich tapestry 
carpet of green and crimson covered the floor, according 
well with the green-and-gold papering on the wall, and the 
heavy green damask curtains, with their richly-gilded cor- 
nices. The furniture was all of black walnut and dark 
green brocatelle. The massive bookcases which lijicd two 
sides of the walls were also of walnut, with plate-glass 
doors. A wealth of literature, both ancient and modern, 
weighed down their shelves. Ko dust had been allowed to 
accumulate, no moth to corrupt : for this had been the mas- 
ter’s favorite room, she guessed, from the abundance of 
man’s rubbish littering the tables and mantle-shelves, — • 
such as pipes and cigar-boxes and match-boxes and pistol- 
cases, &c. ; and she’d sunned and dusted it ever^'- day herself. 

At the end of this long room was an arched alcove, par- 
titioned off from the rest of the library by soft lace curtains 
caught back by crystal water-lilies. Time had turned the 
lace yellow ; and the folds, that were crisp and starched when 
Koger Etheridge was fitting up this little alcove for his fair 
young bride, now hung limp and lifeless. 

It was with an indefinable feeling of awe that Esther 
Brandon parted the yellow lace curtains, and stepped across 
the entrance to this boudoir. It was a perfect gem ; or, 
rather, it had been. The pale cream-colored paper, with its 
once pink sprays of flowers, was faded and discolored. The 
carpet, so delicate in colors and tracery, careful Miss Cally 
ha<l concealed by a coarse linen covering. All the furniture, 
too, stood enveloped in ghostly linen coverings, their gilded 
legs alone peeping out suggestively. A dainty work-stand 
and miniature writing-desk, costly trifles of papier-rnache 
and pearl, stood on either side of the white marble mantle- 
piece, which in itself was a work of art, so rich and elab- 
orate was the carving all over it. A locked piano occupied 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


101 


one bare space ; and a handsome harp, shrouded in a green 
baize cover, faced it from another corner. A few well- 
selected pictures adorned the walls, and two or three hand- 
some vases stood upon the mantle. 

Essie had not advanced beyond the threshold. She took 
all these items in as she stood there ; a feeling of depression 
coming over her as she thought of the sad tale those walls 
might tell, if they could only speak. 

“ This was her room,” she murmured, — the beautiful 
wife’s, who brought so much misery on her husband! I 
wonder what she did ; or was she to blame ? — who knows ? 
The world is so much fonder of blaming a woman than a man ! 
Who knows any thing but what he has seen fit to tell? 
Poor woman ! maybe she was the sufferer, after all, though 
all the pity is accorded him. But, again, that’s the way 
of the world, — the blame for the silent dead, the pity for 
the complaining quick. Bight or wrong, of course she was 
the sufferer. Could he suffer as she could ? Of course not 1 
Was she not a woman? was he not a man ? * Can a man 
sufter ? — really suffer ? Bah ! no. He thought he would 
suffer ; and the papers tell me he’s married, — married ever 
so long ago ; while I — Pshaw! maundering into the old, 
beaten track. I thought that chamber was locked so se- 
curely, no ghost of a memory could ever force its way out. 
Did she, the wife, the beloved wife, ever suffer as I 
suffered in that far-away time? Poor thing! I wonder 
why I feel such a tender longing to know her story. Is it 
to convince m^-self that others have trod as stony a path as 
mine? But then they say she was bad, and it was her 
own hand that wrought all this trouble and desolation. 
Perhaps. But I pity her; I pity her all the same, because 
she was a woman, and suffered. I pity her ” — She spoke 
the words audibly. 

^^Pity who, my dear ? ” Miss Cally’s ringing voice jarred 
on Esther’s overstrung nerves, breaking in as it did upon 
the solemn stillness of the little alcove, whose outlines were 
growing dim in the fading light of evening. 

I did not know I was speaking out loud. I believe I’ve 
been dreaming in tiiis ghostly little room. I’ve been trying 
to imagine the sad story tliat has converted what was in- 
tended for a beautiful home into nothing more than a mel- 
ancholy tomb for sad memories.” 


102 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


Bless the child ! her imagination has run riot in the 
space of fifteen minutes. Much obliged to you, Pm sure, 
for calling my handsome house a tomb ! It’s rather a 
lively ghost that inhabits it, at any rate; and the ghost’s 
coffee and pecans are ready, if you’ll come back from dream- 
land and partake of them.” 

“ Dear Miss Cally, I beg a thousand pardons for my un- 
happy comparison. I believe I am imaginative ; and as I 
stood in that little room, looking at all the dainty feminine 
arrangements that told so plainly the tale of her refined 
tastes, I lost sight entirely of you, and the good people out 
yonder, and myself, and was consumed by an intense long- 
ing to hear the true story of her misery.” 

“ Her misery ! ” said Miss Cally tartly : “ poor Roger’s, 
you had better say. It was all her doings : so they tell me. 
I tell you what, my dear : you stay here to-night, and I’ll 
tell you all I know myself ; which isn’t a great deal, I ac- 
knowledge. But, if a romantic story will be inducement 
enough to keep you, I promise it to you : for I’ve taken a 
fancy to you, I declare I have ; and I’d like to keep you 
with me for a day or two. ^When you find a congenial soul 
in this tolerably uncongenial world, grapple it to your soul 
with hooks of steel :’ that’s my philosophy.” 

Miss Cally was brimful of quotations, and was wont to 
say, in extenuation of her constant use of them, ‘‘Next 
best thing to having ideas of your own is to know how to 
make use of other people’s.” 

Esther’s life at the Goldings’ was one of such unbroken 
monotony, and her surroundings in that comfortable but 
unbeautiful home were so unattractive, that she did not find 
it difficult to gain her own consent to absenting herself 
therefrom for a few days. 

This Etheridge house charmed her, fascinated her with a 
strange fascination, that was hardly to be accounted for on 
the score of its elegant upholstery and picturesque situation. 
She was possessed with an unconquerable desire to hear all 
that Miss Cally could tell her of the sad romance that had 
settled like a black pall over this lovely spot, scaring away 
all that was bright and joy-giving in the lives of two people 
whom she had never seen. So, when the Goldings made 
ready to leave after their coffee-drinking, Essie staid behind. 


CHAPTEE XV. 


AN EVENING IN DREAMLAND. 

I THINK it would be bard for the most imaginative of 
artists to fancy a prettier picture than the one Miss Gaily 
and Esther Brandon helped form on the terrace, at the 
Oaks, on this evening. 

The sun was sending his last slanting rays of molten gold 
across the sward of the terrace, tenderly caressing its bright 
embroidery of zinnias, phlox, and big-eyed heart’s-ease, leav- 
ing the tops of the tall trees in sombre shade, while their 
massive trunks gleamed with reflectediight. On the top step 
of the last flight of stone stairs Esther had seated herself^ 
leaning back against the white marble vase, toying with 
one white hand with the trailing branches of crimson verbena 
which nestled lovingly in the dark braids that crowned her 
head, her long black robes forming an effective ground- 
work for the brighter tints of the picture. Away off down 
the winding road creaked the red spring wagon under 
its load of Goldings and goodness, with Eip, fresh from his 
long rest at the Oaks, trotting contentedly behind. The 
great yellow moon came placidly up in the blue orient, dis- 
puting the sovereignty of the skies with the dying monarch. 
Just above Esther, in the more dignified enjoyment of a 
garden-chair, sat Miss Gaily, herself a separate picture of 
bright-eyed contentment. 

Better sit in a chair, my dear. It^s all very nice, this 
youthful defiance of night air and dew ; but it amounts, in 
the long-run, to romance versus rheumatism.^^ 

I never catch cold. Miss Gaily j and I feel quite sure 

103 


104 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


that from no other point of the compass oould I get just 
such another view of this lovely scene.” 

“ ’Tis pretty, isn^t it ? ” said Miss Gaily with an air of 
supreme satisfaction, as if she were individually entitled to 
the credit for the surrounding beauties, — the yellow moon, 
the flecks of sunlight on the grass, the big-eyed Johnny- 
jump-ups, and all. 

A thoughtful silence fell upon the two ladies for a little 
while. 

Esther, a passionate lover of the beautiful in art or na- 
ture, seemed content to sit dreamily drinking her fill of 
the placid loveliness around, feeling, somehow or other, more 
at home in the refined atmosphere of this elegant abode, 
which she had known hut an hour or two, than she felt, or 
ever could feel, in her own little familiar bed-room at Lo- 
cust Grove, that she’d lived in now for more than four 
months, — lived in until every nail-hole in the roughly-plas- 
tered walls, every flower upon the gorgeous calico curtains, 
were indelibly impressed upon her tortured memory. 

Miss Gaily, also a lover of the beautiful in her own kit- 
tenish fashion, not pining for it in the abstract, but being 
full of lively appreciation of any thing pretty that was 
brought immediately under her observation, brought her 
commendatory glances back from the sunshine, and the zin- 
nias, and the phlox, to the lovelier human blossom, the 
queenly white lily, of which Essie’s pure beauty seemed so 
fitting a type. 

The girl is perfectly lovely,” was Miss G ally’s mental 
dictum, after having taken along and comprehensive look at 
her, as she sat there, with her white hands clasped indolent- 
ly, in a fashion of her own, upon her black lap, her head 
resting against the marble vase, her wistful violet eyes fixed 
abstractedly on the distant horizon, — perfectly lovely, but 
too sad and cold for one so young. I wonder what ails her. I 
wonder if it’s a trouble that anybody — that I, for instance — 
could help her with. Mrs. Golding says she never com- 
plains. I wish she would : a little healthy complaining does 
a world of good sometimes. I don’t believe in locking 
trouble up so closely in one’s own breast. A little human 
sympathy goes a great way towards helping a body bear 
the heaviest burden. Poor child ! no doubt she thinks her- 
self monstrously strong, very self-reliant and independent, 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


105 


and all that sort of thing; and I doubt not but she thinks 
that she’s hidden her sorrow away from sight, so that 
nobody even guesses its existence, poor dear, poor dear ! 
while all the time there’s a drag in the corners of that 
pretty mouth of hers, and a far-away look in her sad, sweet 
eyes, that’s enough to bring the tears in a body’s own eyes 
from pure sympathy with a sorrow one don’t know any 
thing about. If I hold my tongue much longer. I’ll feel 
like crying, anyhow ; which would be a nice way of mend- 
ing matters. I’ll win her heart first, and then her confi- 
dence. How pretty she’d look if she would only put off 
those heavy black dresses, and come out in the laces and 
ribbons and toggery that belong to her time of life ! But 
she doesn’t need much assistance from millinery to make 
her as handsome as a picture. And not a marriageable 
man within fifty miles ! What a pity ! ” And Miss Cally’s 
feminine mind deplored the waste of so much loveliness 
with genuine regret. 

When am I to have my story ? ” asked Essie present- 
ly, bringing her eyes back from the tree-tops to Miss 
Cally’s friendly face, the sharp scrutiny of whose black 
eyes she had been feeling for some time, and wincing under. 

Whenever you can make up your mind to come 
under shelter, and listen to it like a Christian,” replied 
Miss Cally. 

^^And waste this beautiful evening in-doors?” answered 
Esther with a voice full of remonstrance. 

^WVell, my dear, as the moon has a longer lease of life 
than either you or I, and as I’m already in my third quar- 
ter, with no ]3rospect of coming out a rejuvenated crescent 
next month, I think I’ll have to be positive about adjourn- 
ing to the house.” 

Pardon my want of consideration,” said the young 
girl hastily, rising as she spoke. am afraid having no 
one but myself to think of is making me selfish.” 

But why should you think of no one but yourself, child? ” 
asked Miss Cally gently ; and she laid her small hand upon 
Essie’s arm with a caressing motion. 

‘^Because my life and heart are empty,” answered the 
girl with a force and bitterness out of all keeping with her 
hardly-acquired stoicism. 

“No one’s life or heart need be empty, my dear, so long 


106 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


as one has strength and health ; for this big world of ours is 
full of claimants upon our time and our afioctions.’^ 

Tlie little woman spoke the words hastily and tremulous- 
ly; for, though she was herself a sincere and consistent 
follower of Him who went about doing good, she had a holy 
horror of sermonizing, preferring rather to live her reli- 
gion than to preach it. It was seldom she ventured upon 
such little moralizing sentiments as the above ; and, when 
she did, it was in an apologetic mirror, as she begged of 
you not to think she thought herself the least speck better 
than yourself. 

You are a Christian,” said Essie in the tone of having 
just made a most astonishing discovery, while she looked 
down upon the small bit of humanity at her side as might 
one who unexpectedly comes across a rare plant of foreign 
extraction in one’s cabbage-bed; for in that careless, half- 
heathen, Le-Hoir neighborhood, religion entered very little 
into the talk, and much less into the lives, of the people. 

I hope so, my dear,” was the simple reply. 

By this time they had entered the big hall ; and Miss 
Gaily led the way into the library. 

I don’t often sit in this big old room when I am by my- 
self ; but I suppose Preston has lighted the lamps in here in 
honor of your visit. Miss Essie. Excuse my not calling you 
Miss Brandon, child ; but that sounds so far off, and I want 
to come near to you. I believe I’m going to be very fond 
of you : and I propose you shall be fond of me too, miss ; do 
you understand ? I say, shall be : I use the imperative 
mood, you perceive. I’m partial to it. Imperativeness is 
becoming to women of my size. It overawes folks into los- 
ing sight of the lack of majesty in my appearance by the 
preponderance of it in my manners. Hf you can’t be a 
thing, look it ’ (provided it’s a desirable thing, of course) : 
that’s my philosophy. How do you like it ? ” 

^^You, or your philosophy?” asked Essie with a smile. 

“Both, dear; both.” 

“ I doubt the wisdom of your philosophy. As for your- 
self, I am afraid I am in danger of liking you only too 
well.” 

“My dear, I don’t like- your selection of an adjective. 
Couldn’t you make use of a more complimentary one than 
^ afraid ’ ? I don’t know that I exactly fancy being spoken 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


107 


of as one would speak of a dish of cucumbers, or other tempt- 
tiiig hut indigestible comestible/’ 

Esther laughed outright at the queer conceit, — a genuine 
merry laugh, entirely unpremeditated on her part, and upon 
the heels of which her sombre advocacy of the objectionable 
adjective trod rather awkwardly. But where was the use 
of acquiring stoicism if one was 'to be laughed out of it by 
the first ripple of sunshine fate chose to throw across one’s 
pathway ? 

^^Yes, afraid. Miss Cally, I think it’s much wiser and 
more comfortable to go soberly through life, performing one’s 
duty rigidly, looking neither to the right nor left, not desir- 
ing approval, not minding disapproval, neither loving nor 
hating anybody, being simply and entirely indifferent to 
everybody.” 

Being simply and entirely a goose,” interrupted Miss 
Cally tartly. ‘‘Excuse me, my dear, for being so impolite 
as to call you a goose at this early stage of our acquaintance ; 
but I have no patience with a pretty young thing like you 
talking cynicism. Why, my dear, don’t you know you’re 
nothing more nor less than a woman ? and don’t you know a 
woman can’t stop loving ? It’s simply an actual necessity 
of her being. A woman can no more live without real live 
affection, than the flowers can without sunshine, or the birds 
without air.” 

“ I am a living refutation of your theory,” said Essie bit- 
terly. 

“ Only temporarily, dear ; only a little while. The sun 
stops shining for days and days together, and the flowers 
languish, and droop their pretty heads ; but he comes back 
again, and they live again. The good God has seen fit to 
take the sunshine out of your life for a little while : but he’ll 
send it back again ; he’ll send it back. I’ll dance at your 
wedding yet, dear ; I feel a conviction that I shall ; and my 
convictions are as infallible as Mrs. Winslow’s soothing 
sirup.” 

But the word wedding ” carried Esther Brandon’s heart 
and memory backward with a fearful bound to that unfin- 
ished wedding in which she had played so conspicuous a 
part, making her sick and white with the hated remem- 
brance. 

“ Never ! ” she said in a solemn voice. 


108 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Miss Cally looked at her for a moment seriously and anx- 
iously, as she might have regarded a sick man whose case 
called for careful consideration, hut caused no despair. Bad, 
hut curable, she classed Essie’s case. But she hushed the 
jesting retort on her wise little lips, awed hy the white 
agony of the girl’s sweet face. 

Come, dear, are you ready to hear the story of Cousin 
Boger’s life-trial ? ” Thus Miss Cally adroitly turned Esther 
from retrospection that was neither wise nor wholesome. 

Miss Cally, you are so good, that I don’t believe you’ll 
think me very troublesome if I tell you I have a fancy for 
hearing her story yonder in her own little room, with no 
light hut the moonlight coming through the big bay-window 
behind her piano.” 

Certainly, my dear ! You may be as romantic as you 
please, now that I’ve gotten you inside the house. Bomance 
by the gallon, if you choose ; only safe romance. Catarrhal 
romance is the only kind I oppose violently.” 

So the two ladies traversed the long library ; and, passing 
under the yellow lace curtains, they opened the sash of the 
bay-window, and flung back the Venetian blinds, letting in 
a flood of pallid moonlight upon the white linen cover that 
was spread upon the floor. Then Esther curled herself up 
in one corner of the shrouded sofa ; and Miss Cally took pos- 
session of the ghostly arm-chair, — the one to listen to her 
story, the other to tell his. 

My dear,” said Miss Cally with a little manufactured 
shiver, “ I hope every thing looks unearthly enough to sat- 
isfy your romantic cravings.” 

Go on, please,” came in a hushed sort of voice from the 
motionless heap of black curled up on the white sofa. 

Well, then,” began the narrator in a once-upon-a-time 
voice, for which she suddenly and temporarily substituted 
her every-day one to inform her listener not to expect a 
thrilling and exhaustive recital of the romance of the Oaks ; 
for, after all, it was only a scrappy and unsatisfactory account 
of Cousin Boger’s trouble she’d ever heard herself. 

^ I remember my cousin Boger Etheridge as I first saw 
him, my dear, — a noble-looking youth of hardly more than 
your own age, which I guess to he about twenty.” 

Bot deeming the guess relevant to the subject in hand, 
her listener did not choose to satisfy her as to its accuracy. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


109 


My father and his mother were second-cousins ; hut ow^ 
ing to the fact that we had always lived up North, where the 
American Hendersons first took their rise (we have English 
blood of the best sort in our veins, Miss Essie), and his 
mother having married a Southern planter and 'moved North, 
an estrangement naturally sprung up, which was entirely ow- 
ing to the distance which separated us. Mother and Cousin 
Maria Etheridge carried on a limping correspondence, how- 
ever ; and one day a letter limped through the post, and as- 
tonished us all by stating, that, as the Etheridges were abroad 
for the summer, they would take us en route for some 
springs, which were their final destination, and renew the 
old-time intimacy. Great was the commotion in parlor and 
kitchen ; for we were but moderately well to do in this world, 
and our cousins, the Etheridges, were ever so rich. Well, 
they came, — four in family, — and staid just that many days. 
The family consisted of Cousin Roger’s father and mother, 
himself, and Cousin Estella, now the Widow Somers, then a 
beautiful young girl of eighteen, as handsome as a tragedy- 
queen, and quite as awe-inspiring. I was afraid of her from 
the first moment I ever laid eyes on her ; and I believe I’ll 
die afraid of her. We haven’t one feeling in common. I 
don’t believe Cousin Estella has much heart in that beautiful 
body of hers. But ^judge not, lest ye he judged : ’ that’s my 
philosophy. Maybe I wrong her : I hope I do. 

“ But as for Cousin Roger, my heart went straight out to 
him. He was so handsome and so bright, and had such a 
winning way about him, that I was in sore danger, my 
dear, of falling ridiculously in love with him. He was as 
tall and slim and straight as a young Indian warrior : his 
features were classic in their regularity ; and his mouth and 
eyes were ravishing; big, clear gray eyes, with lashes 
almost black, — dauntless sort of eyes, that looked the whole 
world fearlessly in the face. His mouth, partially hidden by 
a callow mustache, was large, but well shaped, and full of the 
most dazzlingly-white teeth ; and, when he smiled, my silly 
heart would bound quite out of my keeping. I_ couldn’t 
help it, my dear. I was a foolish, simple country-girl, whose 
experience of the male sex was confined to dear old father, 
who was a plain farmer in every sense of the word, and 
our clumsy farm-boys : so you see I couldn’t help thinking 
Cousin Roger a creature of superior mould, and admiring 


110 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


him accordingly, — admiring, mind, I say, my dear : for I 
wasn’t in love with him, I want you to understand ; not a 
hit of it ! I never was in love with any man living five 
minutes in my life.” Miss Gaily spoke with the fierce 
energy of one resolved to convince herself, or somebody else, 
of a point that was open to controvers}". 

They only staid four days with us, as I told jmu, — four 
short, white days they were too, — and then they went on 
their way to fritter the long summer days away at a fash- 
ionable watering-place, and I went back to my milk-pans 
and churning. I won’t say that I didn’t draw sinful con- 
trasts between my lot and Cousin Estella’s, my dear ; for I 
did not see quite clearly why she should have beauty and 
riches, and all the delights attendant upon those two pos- 
sessions, and I go plodding through life in plain attire, with 
nothing bright around me but my tin milk-pans. But 
I’ve learned since then, child, to believe that He doeth all 
things well. I didn’t envy Cousin Estella after I heard she 
married that profiigate Somers, who made way with her 
money in the four years liQ lived after they were married, 
and then died, leaving her with a boy on her hands to raise 
as best she could, and educate, without any money to do it 
on. I didn’t envy ; but I am afraid I didn’t feel as sorry 
for her as I would have done if I’d thought she had more 
heart to break. But she didn’t suffer as some Tvomen would. 
But there I go judging again. Each heart knoweth its 
own bitterness. ‘ Live and let live ’ ought to be our phi- 
losophy. 

Well, as the novel-writers say, time rolled on, bringing 
us years, and, it is to be hoped, wisdom too, in small, homely 
quantities, suited to our small, homely capacities. Father 
and mother died in the ripeness of age and goodness, and 
went straight to heaven, I make no manner of doubt, leav- 
ing me more unhappy than lonesome ; for, a year or two 
before their summons came, my brother had brought a wife 
to the old farm, who may have suited him as a wife, but 
certainly did not give satisfaction either as daughter-in-law 
or sister. After father’s death, the farm passed into John’s 
hands ; and naturally, after mother’s death, his wife consid- 
ered herself the mistress of the farm. I tried to play 
second-fiddle gracefully, but made but poor work of it. 
So one day, when a letter came from Cousin Estella telling 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Ill 


me that she was in great trouble, and, having heard of 
father’s and mother’s death, she supposed I would have 
nothing very binding to keep me up North, and would I 
come to her in her trouble, I did not find it hard to write 
her ^Yes,’ nor to pack up my few belongings, and follow 
my letter down here. 

Well, when I reached this place, I found Cousin Estella 
in the confusion of packing. We had a long talk before I 
went to bed that first night, during which she told me all 
I’ve ever heard. 

It seems, that, five or six years before that time. Cousin 
Koger had met, while travelling, a beautiful young widow, 
whose only encumbrance was a little girl about two years 
old. This young widow, whose name has slipped my treach- 
erous memory, — if, indeed. Cousin Estella ever told me 
it, — so completely bewitched my handsome cousin, that he 
married her, and brought her down here, having just waited 
long enough to fit this pretty nest up for his bonny bride. 
According to Estella, for five years or so they lived in a 
state of beatitude calculated to make them forget that man 
was horn to sorrow as the sparks fly upward: when, one 
day (Estella says she got this part from Mrs. Etheridge’s 
nurse). Cousin KogeEs wife was sick (she was a deli- 
cate creature anyhow, they say) ; and, when the mail-bag 
was brought in, cousin, who was sitting near his wife’s bed, 
lovingly bathing her head with eau-de-cologne^ glanced 
over the letters, and found among them one addressed to 
his wife. ^Here’s one for you, wife,’ Estella says the 
nurse said he said; and then she put up her hand, and took 
the wet cloth from over her eyes, looked at the handwriting 
carefully, and gave it back to him, saying feebly, ‘ It’s from 
one of the old academy girls : you can read it to me, dear, 
if you choose to waste time on it.’ Estella said the nurse 
said he opened the letter, and began to read ; but, instead 
of reading it out loud, he just kept getting whiter and 
whiter about the mouth, until his wife, alarmed at his 
silence, flung the wet cloth from her eyes again, and, turn- 
ing to see what was the matter, met a gaze that the girl 
said looked like the set stare of a dying man. 

She says her mistress tore the letter from his hand, 
gave one glance at it, uttered a piercing shriek, and sank 
back in a dead faint. 


112 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Then her husband, who had always been so dotingly 
fond of her that her headaches appeared to hurt him as 
badly as they did her, got up and went away, without even 
glancing toward her. The nurse said she worked with lier 
by herself until she brought her round, and that then her 
moans and sobs were heart-breaking to hear. She sent the 
girl to beg Cousin Roger to come to her ; which he refused 
to do. Then she got up out of bed, and, going to her 
desk, sat there for about an hour, writing a letter, which 
she sent to him by the nurse. But he refused to touch it. 
After that, they say she lay quite pale and still, never 
speaking to anybody, refusing to let her little girl come 
near her; only consenting to take her baby, as she called it 
(that was her little nearly four-year-old girl she had by 
Cousin Roger), in her lap, and rocking it, and moaning over 
it like a stricken thing as she was. 

The nurse says she was putting the oldest of the girls 
to bed that night in the little room adjoining her mistress’s 
bed-room, when Cousin Roger came in, looking ten years 
older than he did in the morning ; and, going up to where his 
wife sat with their little one on her lap, he said to her, ‘I 
believe the law allows the mother to keep a child under six 
years of age. Make the most of it for the little while longer 
that it is yours.’ 

Then she dropped on her knees before him, and put up 
her hands in supplication ; but no word came over her white 
' lips. He turned and went out again, and locked himself once 
more in the library. 

The girl says the next morning her mistress and both 
children were gone. Good or bad, I suppose she loved her 
child ; and the fear of having it torn from her maddened her 
into running away with it. 

^^She took with her all her jewelry, which, Estella says, 
would have sold for enough to keep her and the children for 
several years. She left another letter for cousin ; hut they 
say he refused to read that too. They say he made every 
effort to discover her whereabouts, hut in vain ; and, maddened 
with his misery, he went abroad, hoping, I suppose, to find 
oblivion amid strange scenes and people. He had written 
for Estella when his trouble first came upon him. They 
were always more than ordinarily attached to each other. 
She came on at once, and promised him to stay here, and wait 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


113 


for any news that might he sent him of the child ; hut, after 
staying little less than a year, a letter came, the contents of 
which Estella never saw fit to tell me. She only - said' it 
would render it necessary for her to go on to her brother, 
and help him bear this last hard blow ; for ^ the child was 
dead’ 

Whatever became of the poor woman who brought all this 
misery on my cousin^ or of her child, I have never heard. 
Estella wrote me back from Italy that she had gone to her 
brother none too soon. She found him at death’s door with 
brain-fever. She doesn’t write very often. It was more than 
six months before I heard again ; then came another dis- 
mal letter, with more bad news of my afflicted cousin. Tn his 
convalescence he had persisted in reading constantly, by way 
of forgetting his misery, I suppose ; and had lost his eyesight 
in consequence. Poor cousin ! it’s hard to imagine those 
piercing gray eyes closed and sightless. Estella wrote that 
she believed he could be cured if he would only try a cer- 
tain doctor ; but he obstinately refuses to have any thing done 
for himself.” 

Miss Gaily ceased speaking. She had told the whole story 
of Roger Etheridge’s trouble as far as she knew it, setting 
down nought in malice, but uttering never a word of pity for 
the frail, unhappy creature who had stolen like a thief in 
the night away from the beautiful home that adoring love 
had fitted up for her, taking her children with her as she fled 
from the wrath, the unappeasable wrath, of an outraged hus- 
band. Miss Gaily only knew the story as Estella Somers had 
told it her; and in her pure soul the memory of Roger 
Etheridge’s beautiful wife stood out black and distinctly as 
an unprincipled adventuress, a bold, bad woman. 

Esther Brandon had listened to this story with an ab- 
sorbing interest she would have found it hard to account for 
in words. Roger Etheridge was nothing to her, nor was 
Roger Etheridge’s perfidious wife ; but, through all her 
thoughts about the family story just told her, there ran an 
under-current of tender pity for the wretched woman fleeing 
from her misery, alone and unpitied : she knew so well how 
women could suffer with heart-wounds ! 

I wonder if she is dead.” It was Essie’s voice that 
broke the silence that had fallen upon the little moon- 
lit alcove after Miss Gaily had finished her story. 


114 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Who knows ? ” answered Miss Cally softly. If she is, 
let us - hope that she has found mercy where ^ the wicked cease 
from troubling.’ ” 

^ And the weary are at rest/ ” added Esther Brandon in 
a tender voice. 

From the shrouded harp in the corner, whose strings had 
last resounded to the touch of those dead fingers, came a low, 
plaintive murmur, as if the disembodied soul of Boger Eth- 
eridge’s exiled wife moaned a requiem for their parted lives, 
their dead happiness ; while the pallid moonlight cast ghostly 
shadows on the floor, that flitted hither and thither like rest- 
less spirits. 

A nervous start and a hardly-repressed scream from Esther 
testified to her overwrought imagination. 

“ A mouse running across the harp-strings,” said matter-of- 
fact Miss Cally ; at wdiich her guest felt unreasonably cross 
because people would put themselves to so much pains to 
explain away every thing. 

It was rather trying, just as one had gotten one’s self fairly 
en rapport with a sighing spirit from the other world, to be 
brought back to the consideration of a scampering mouse. 

But Miss Cally hated mystery in any shape or form. She 
considered concealment and mystery and evasion, and all 
that sort of thing, uncanny and unchristian-like ; and it was 
due to this antipathy that she so candidly answered all man- 
ner of inquiry about the Etheridge trouble, persistently refus- 
ing to lock the closet that contained the skeleton of the Oaks. 

^ Speak the truth, and shame the Devil,’ that’s my philoso- 
phy,” being her triumphant vindication of the course she 
pursued. 


CHAPTEB XVI. 


MISS CALLT ASKS, BUT DOES NOT RECEIVE. 

Esther slept that night in a grand old chamber, whose 
heavy four-poster of rosewood, with its fine linen draperies and 
heavy Marseilles spread, was decidedly in contrast with the 
narrow little chintz-clad bed at Locust Grove into which she 
had to climb of nights with many a frantic clutch at the 
treacherously-yielding covering. 

It was Avith a curious feeling of at-hometiveness (why 
mayn^t I coin words as well as other folks ?) that Mrs. Gold- 
ing’s homeless teacher entered into enjoyment of the luxuri- 
ous comforts of the Oaks. -She did not dream, as, by rights, 
I suppose she should have done on that night, of avenging 
husbands, exiled wives, sighing ghosts in moonlit alcoves ; 
but, instead, of fat old Dr. Sparks, who was her pupil, and a 
very stupid one, crying behind Ips Second Header because 
she wouldn’t hear to his going swimming with Hip. Such is 
the perverse tendency of the human mind ! 

As Avas her custom, she rose very early the next morning ; 
and, Avith a freedom she knew cleA^er Miss Gaily would not 
resent, slie found her own Avay hack to the long library, 
Avhich, Avith its neighboring alcove, possessed such a strange 
fascination for her. She Avas deep in examination of the well- 
filled bookcases Avhen her hostess hunted her up for break- 
fas tin g-purposes. 

That meal, a plenteous and daintily-served repast, 
throng] 1 Avith, Miss Gaily ofiered her guest the freedom of 
the liouse and of the yard. 

I shall be busy, my dear, for two hours now, cutting 


116 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


out tlie (lay’s work for my liousehold cabinet. If you cbooso, 
you can explore the garden with me ; pay a visit to the 
dairy; go and talk gibberish to the geese, or listen to it 
from my Guinea cook : or, if none of these intellectual enter- 
tainments strike your fastidious fancy, you can return to 
the libraiy, and make a selection of a book to read out to 
me by the time I am ready to settle to my sewing. How 
will that suit you ?” 

Miss Brandon thought this final suggestion would suit 
her well. 

“ I love to hear a body read out loud,” said Miss Gaily. 

I always go to sleep if I try to read to myself.” 

How do you know that my voice won’t have a soporific 
effect also ? ” asked Essie. 

Oh ! you read well ; I know you do,” answered Miss 
Gaily positively. You have a goo(i voice,— a very good one. 
It is well modulated. You utter your words clearly and 
distinctly, without any mouthing: and, in spite of your 
would-be cynicism, I know, from the way in which you felt 
the story I was telling you last night about people you 
have no earthly interest in, that you would feel whatever 
you were reading; provideci, that is, the author had done 
his work properly. At any rate, I promise to be a candid 
critic. I feel pretty sure you would make a poor anodyne.” 

hope you will criticise me candidl3’',” said Essie as 
she turned toward the library to make her selection. 

Well,” said Miss Gall^’-, coming into the library an hour 
or two later, work-basket in hand, ‘H’m ready.” And 
she settled herself upon a low wicker rocking-chair with an 
air of immense satisfaction. 

Her little black eyes pounced upon a formidable heap of 
books that Esther had taken from the shelves and placed 
upon a small table near at hand. 

‘^Are we to read all that this morning, my dear?” And 
Miss Gally’s face and voice were full of mock alarm. 

Of course not. Miss Gaily ! I wanted you to make the 
selection ; and I’ve taken down quite a variety for that pur- 
pose.” 

“Well, read out the titles of what you’ve taken dowm, 
and we’ll decide,” she answered, threading a needle by 
way of providing occupation for ten of the most restless 
little fingers that a mortal was ever blessed or cursed with. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


117 


‘ Lucille/ ” said Essie, picking up Owen Mereditli. 

Very pretty,'^ said Miss Gaily approvingly, ^'especially 
that part where he speaks so feelingly about cooks and 
diuing. But I’ve read that: so we’ll try something else.” 

The idea that the same literary feast could be enjoyed 
twice over entered as little into Miss Cally’s comprehen- 
sion as the possibility of eating the same dinner over 
twice. 

"How will Goethe’s 'Faust’ do?” demanded Essie. 

"What’s it all about?” asked Miss Gaily innocently. 
Esther gave her a rapid synopsis of the plot of the drama, 
slightly sketching Margaret fair and frail, Faust the vic- 
tim of ambition, Mephistopheles grim and passionless. 

" It sounds nice ; we’ll have that ; ” and this time Miss 
Gaily nodded unqualified approval at her literary caterer. 

So Essie seated herself, 'Faust’ in hand; while Miss Gaily 
started her shining needle upon its never-ending journey, 
in and out, out and in, one stitch backward for every two 
forward. 

" Don’t mind my not looking at you, child : I can listen 
a great deal better if I sew. This lowells shirt’s not nearly 
so likely to distract my attention as your pretty face would : 
so read on.” 

And Esther obeyed her, reading on in the dim, cool libra- 
ry, while the brazen day burned on apace outside, unheeded, 
forgotten, as the one told, in her rich full voice, the tragic 
story of two broken lives, and the other listened, carried 
away by her dramatic rendering of the poem into forgetting 
that she was plain Miss Gaily Henderson sewing on a 
lowells shirt, — forgetting, in fact, that she was anybody; 
seeing only a white-faced tragedy-queen before her, who 
swayed her, by the magic power of a wonderful voice, now 
into tearful sympathy with the fallen Margaret, then into 
contemptuous pity for the unhappy Faust, anon into 
righteous indignation against the cold, scoffing, relentless 
fiend who had brought all this misery about. 

Esther ceased reading. Miss Gally’s shirt had fallen un- 
heeded upon the floor, the needle, divorced from the thread, 
remaining in her upraised hand ; while her black eyes, 
burning with excitement, stared with not a particle of re- 
proach in them at a "dauber” who had just deposited his 
first instalment of mud on the ledge of the white marble 


118 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


mantle-piece. Miss Cally Henderson could give no greater 
illustration of the triumph of mind over matter than thus 
placidly witnessing the desecration of her pure mantle- 
shelf. 

Is that all? ” She heaved a sigh of exhausted attention, 
looking the least little bit ashamed of having been so com- 
pletely carried away by something that hadn’t a word of 
truth in it, after all. “ Child, you read magnificently ! It 
was your voice and manner that made me forget how un- 
real it all was. I don’t know that I thank you for having 
cheated me out of my every-day senses so completely.” 

^‘Do I really move you so? or are you only uttering 
insincere compliments ? ” There was an anxious ring in 
Esther’s voice, and a look of eager inquiry in her big eyes. 

Miss Cally held her lowells shirt aloft by way of illustra- 
tion. Do you suppose, if I hadn’t forgotten entirely what 
I was about, it would have taken me two mortal hours to 
sew that much ?” And she pointed contemptuously to the 
few skimp finger-lengths that marked the limited progress 
of her seam. 

“I am so glad!” exclaimed Esther, clasping her hands 
enthusiastically. 

^^Glad that my shirt has been at a stand-still all the 
morning, miss?” 

‘^My dear Miss Cally,” she went on, loftily ignoring 
that particular shirt, or the necessity for such garments in 
general, I have been experimenting on you.” 

Not exactly understanding the drift of this observation. 
Miss Cally invited an explanation by a puzzled ^^How?” 

Your unaffected emotion while I was reading assures 
me that I was made for something better than the dreary 
work of teaching the alphabet to stupid children from one 
year’s end to another. As a school-girl, I stood well as a 
reader ; and I feel it in me, that, with proper training, I 
could make a dramatic reader.” 

Go on the stage ! ” exclaimed horror-stricken Miss 
Cally, who had but one conception of the word fGlramatic.” 

You misunderstand,” said Esther, drawing back in herself. 

I’m sorry I troubled you with my plans. I am sure I had 
no right to.” 

Then Miss Cally grew gentle again. My dear, I’m 
confident you’ll find it hard to discover anybody who takes 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


119 


a deeper interest in you or your plans than I do. But you 
are far too young and too handsome to venture before the 
public gaze with impunity.” 

Dramatic readings are the very highest order of enter- 
tainment. I feel the elements of success as a reader within 
me. If I thought I should have to lead my present life for 
five more years, I could fearlessly walk into the river in front 
of Mr. Golding’s house.” Her voice and manner were full 
of quiet resolution. 

Miss Cally looked at. her uneasily. She was afraid of 
people who had feelings ” that drove them to try risky ex- 
periments. Alphabetical readings might be monotonous ; 
but they were safe : and she wasn’t quite sure she could say 
as much for dramatic readings. Stupid children were, no 
doubt, trying enough; but would a capricious public be any 
less so ? Dramatic readings ! “ Headings ” sounded respecta- 
ble enough ; but there was a smack of the stage about that 
word dramatic ” that was alarming in the extreme. Dra- 
matic ” suggested the stage; the stage suggested visions of 
painted Jezebels in short dresses, bespangled, beflounced, 
bedizened, — out of all likeness to Christian females. 

Imagination here took the bit between its teeth, and ran 
clear away with dear, simple Miss Cally, bringing up finally 
before a hideous picture of queenly Esther Brandon in silk 
tights and a cloud of spangled tarlatan. Hot that Essie was 
to begin her dramatic readings in silk tights and spangled 
tarlatan : that was to be the end of the beginning. She 
was to begin soberly enough, — with reading on a stage ; 
reading on a stage would beget a liking for the stage; 
acting on a stage would beget a thirst for admiration ; a 
thirst for admiration was to beget the desire to do that which 
would most surely superinduce that admiration. And here 
came in the grand climacteric question, What style of per- 
formance upon the stage excited most universal admiration ? ” 
Why, the ballet, of course ! It never once entered Miss 
Cally’s head that there could possibly be any physical im- 
pediments to this horrible finale on Miss Brandon’s part,^ 
such as lack of agility, superfluous height, or any thing 
of that sort. The stage was the broad and open road that 
led to destruction ; and Esther was complacently fixing her 
lovely eyes thereupon. Monstrous ! What between Swe- 
denborg as Scylla, and Goethe’s Eaust as Charybdis, the 


120 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


little woman was in a sad way. But, little as slie was, Miss 
Gaily was wise in her generation. She would lead this rest- 
less young soul back to wholesome contemplation of the bless- 
ings in her lot, which she seemed in danger of forgetting. 

Miss Essie, it isn’t often that a young girl who has to 
fight her own way in the world happens up with such good 
friends as you have in the Goldings.” 

I know that ; and I fully appreciate their goodness to 
me, striving earnestly to show my appreciation of it by 
doing my duty by their children honestly and conscien- 
tiously.” 

Then you are perfectly comfortable in your surround- 
ings ? ” It was an assertion made in an interrogative 
tone. 

“ Perfectly comfortable,” coldly and laconically. 

And the children might he stupider.” 

Possibly.” 

Or harder to keep well in hand,” still looking on the 
bright side of things. 

Miss Gaily, have I said any thing calculated to make you 
think I am dissatisfied with the Goldings, old or young? 
If I have, it is due them that I should retract immedi- 
ately.” 

^‘Not a whisper against the Goldings, my dear, but just 
at outs with your lot generally.” 

I am at outs with my lot generally, if you choose to put 
it in that way ; nor is it such a sunshiny one, that any thing 
with more vitality than a mole would be likely to be at ins 
with it.” 

In her limited experience of human nature. Miss Gaily had 
never before come in contact with an original, — a woman 
so daring as to do her own thinking, and do it in her own 
fashion too. Gontented submission in that sphere of life 
to which it had pleased God to call her was the fundamental 
rule of life to Miss Gaily, — the rule, in fact, by which she 
had grooved existence, and trimmed her actions, until they 
dove-tailed with her desires in the neatest manner possible. 
But here was a right young thing, too soft and unformed 
to be so set in her own way of thinking, obstinately refusing 
to be grooved at all, and. running a-muck at all Miss Gaily ’s 
cut-and-dried principles in the most dangerous and alarming 
fashion. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


121 


She began to think Swedenborg was not the only torpedo 
endangering the placidity of her quiet existence at the Oaks. 
This pretty, wdiite-faced thing, with her solemn eyes and 
sweet mouth, was evidently made of explosive material, and 
needed delicate handling. 

Discontent ’’ this little soul-doctor looked upon as a pain- 
ful but not over-dangerous mental rash, apt to break out 
upon bodies that were not fully supplied with healthful oc- 
cupation, rendering the sufferer irritable and restless bejmnd 
the powers of finite endurance. It was evident her young 
guest had it in an aggravated form. If Essie had suddenly 
developed physical nettle-rash. Miss Cally could have coped 
successfully with it with the aid of bacon-rind, cooling 
drinks, and exhortations to quiet and patience. But this 
case defied bacon-rind and the rest of the regimen. She 
would try external applications in the way of soothing 
aphorisms. 

Dear heart, do try and have faith in the superior wisdom 
of Him who has had the ordering of your lot. Try and say 
from your heart, ^ He doeth all things well.’ ” 

But I don’t think He does,” was the rebellious answer. 
Miss Cally looked scared, and then sneakily changed her 
base. Who knew what secret sorrows this lonely girl bore 
shut up in her heart, corroding its freshness, eating out all 
goodly impulses, curdling the milk of human kindness, mak- 
ing her so feverishly restless, so hard to manage, so reckless ? 
What right had she to judge by her dim lights ? How could 
she treat this sick soul without going back from consequence 
to cause ? have been reasoning deductively long enough : 
I’m going to ask her for her confidence right out.” 

My dear, have I impressed you with the idea of being 
a prying, meddlesome old maid ? ” 

Essie looked at her in genuine astonishment as she re- 
turned a sincere negative. 

Are you in the habit of calculating your feeling for 
people by the almanac, or by heart-beats ? ” 

^‘By heart-beats,” said the young girl in a slow, sad 
fashion, as she thought, with the dreariness of desolation, 
of the few white months into which all her life had been 

^^Then you’ll not find it hard to understand that I feel 
the very deepest interest in you ; will you ? ” 


122 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Grateful tears welled into Esther’s beautiful eyes as she 
replied, I do believe you care something for me ; and I 
thank you for it.’’ 

Show your thankfulness.” 

^^How?” 

“ By giving me something I want very much, and you 
can give very easily.” 

And that is ” — 

“ Your confidence.” 

Esther started visibly ; then enveloped herself once more 
in her habitual reserve, replying coldly, — 

“ You are mistaken. I cannot give it easily.” 

I whnt to do you good, my dear child,” persisted well- 
meaning Miss Cally ; and how can I, without knowing 
where the trouble lies ? I know by that mournful black 
dress (which I do wish you’d consent to lay aside this 
sultry weather) that you’ve buried those that are near and 
dear to you. }3ut troubles like that are sent to all of us ; 
and the good God who sent them never meant us to grieve 
forever.” 

Esther was silent. How could she tell this would-be 
friend, who, with the very best intentions, was probing her 
painfully, that she was in mourning for herself; that her 
black garb was only an outward and visible sign of the 
inward and ^nspiritual life that was bereaved of all joy, 
empty of the loves and blessings, and glints of sunlight, 
that make life to all woman? Bright colors and bright 
lines, brilliant prospects and gay ornaments, went happily 
together : empty lines of ceaseless toil, one eternal gray- 
hued day of sorrow, would seem but hideously mocked by 
their adoption. Black was her only fitting wear. But she 
doubted if simple Miss Cally could follow her through the 
grim ratiocination that constituted her advocacy of leaving 
gay colors and bright ribbons, and all manner of feminine 
bravery, to others who were not as she was. 

One thing she felt she must do. She must give Miss 
Cally clearly to understand that neither now nor at any 
future time of their intercourse could she expect any thing 
like reciprocity in the matter of confidence. So, looking 
her bravely in the face, she said, not without a pitiful 
tremulousness in her sweet voice, — 

Miss Cally, I hope you won’t think it indicates any 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


123 


lack of conMence for me to say it ; but, if we are to be 
friends, please don’t ever ask me any questions about my- 
self. If you do not want to cause me actual suffering, you 
never will.” 

Dear child, of course I don’t ; and I heartily beg your 
pardon for the pain I see I’ve already given you. It 
only distressed me to see a young thing like you kicking 
against the pricks in such a helpless fashion ; and I thought 
to speak a timely word of warning in the true spirit of 
love and kindness. I’ll say nothing more, except this, — do 
not wear your young life out by taking unavailing thought 
of the morrow. ^ Consider the lilies.’ ” 

He who clothed the lilies has forgotten me j has left me 
to fight the hard fight all alone.” 

Miss Gaily came close up to where her guest sat ; and, 
lifting the young head from its drooping posture, she stooped, 
and pressed a kiss of honest affection upon the tightly- 
compressed lips. 

^^Not alone, dear heart; not alone, nor forgotten. ^Be- 
hind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.’ Try 
to bear that in mind. It is my philosophy : I wish you 
would make it yours.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


MORE HERESY. 

XiGHT settled down once more on the home deserted by 
Roger Etheridge; and once more did prudent Miss Cally 
insist that the terraces and the flowers should be granted 
a monopoly of the damp night-air and the dew ; and once 
more did our two philosophers, or would-be philosophers 
(feminine half-and-half), respectively adherents of Democ- 
ritus and Zeno, take possession of the alcove with its 
shadows and its ghostly belongings. 

Said the disciple of Zeno with a sigh, ‘‘ This is my last 
evening in this weird little room. I feel as if IM lived 
here all my life. I am conscious of a sense of appropriate- 
ness, as if I were a part of the old house, and the old house 
a part of me. I wonder if the soul of some one-time in- 
habitant of the spot animates my body at present. I 
shall miss it all sadly, — the grand old library ; this nook, 
with its shrouded furniture, its silent instruments, its flit- 
ting shadows.’’ 

Said the disciple of Democritus with a laugh, “ Thank 
you, my dear, for complimenting my chairs and tables, with 
never a word of myself. I will return good for evil. It is 
you that I shall miss, — your own restless, naughty, charm- 
ing self. But why should you speak as if I were never to 
have you back again ? Do you suppose, now that I’ve 
found you out, I intend to lose sight of you again ? Not a 
bit of it ! I am aware of no impassable gulf between the 
Oaks and Locust Grove : so, almost any bright Friday, you 
may look down the river-road, and you will see a Noah’s 
124 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


125 


ark on wheels, swaying and rocking its slow length along, 
with the assistance of one sad-faced, flea-bitten white horse, 
and old knock-kneed Jinny, as my handsomest animal is 
irreverently called ; and you may know that it is me, coming 
in state for you. And v/oe betide you if you greet me with 
any flimsy excuse ! for neither I nor my animals are as 
young as we were once upon a time ; and, when we ride 
twelve miles, we mean business.^’ 

“ I shall hardly be likely to find any excuse for denying 
myself the one source of pleasure that I have in my pos- 
session. You’ve been so very, very good to me, I hardly 
know how to thank you.” 

‘^By not being lugubrious, my dear. ^It is better to 
laugh than to cry : ’ that’s my philosophy. What do you 
say to some music ? Of course you play on the piano : all 
young ladies do now-a-days.” 

I am ashamed to acknowledge, then, that I’m not as 
other young ladies are. My limited means only allowed 
of tuition on one instrument ; and I gave the harp my 
preference.” 

Sensible girl ! There’s no instrument to compare with 
it. We can still have music then ; that is, if the mice 
haven’t nibbled all the melody out of this old thing.” And 
Miss Gaily, who hadn’t an ounce of romantic superstition 
in the whole of her diminutive body, hustled briskly up to 
the muffled harp, and, relieving it of its green baize wrapper, 
brought to view a most magnificently carved and gilded 
harp, apparently in a remarkable state of preservation. 

With the delight of an artist Esther approached the 
handsome instrument, and, without a great deal of difficulty, 
wound its loose strings into harmony. She was a finished 
performer on the harp, and held her solitary listener en- 
tranced for the next half-hour while she sent rich chords 
and volumes of melody rolling and swelling through the al- 
cove, out from under the yellow lace curtains, to fill the long 
library, a\’\gikening echoes that had last resounded to the 
touch of one hardly older, and none the less fair, than beau- 
tiful Esther Brandon, — Boger Etheridge’s unhappy wife, 
then a loved and loving consort, pouring out her whole 
happy soul in sweet melodeis ; singing pteans of praise to 
the good God who had brought her into such pleasant places, 
and crowned her life with the wonderful blessing of Boger’s 
love. 


126 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


“ Wliat a pity ! ” was Miss Cadly’s remarkable comment 
as tbe last faint chords died away, and Essie’s white hand 
fell idle on her lap. 

“ What a pity ! ” echoed puzzled Esther. 

Yes, dear. Not a marriageable man within fifty miles 
of Le Noir.” 

Miss Gaily persisted in regarding Esther — young, hand- 
some, and accomplished — as a sheer waste of sweetness on 
the desert air of Le Noir, yet fiercely resented any indica- 
tion of restlessness on the young girl’s part. According to 
Miss Cally’s way of thinking, it was a pity she should be 
immured at Le Noir ; but the immuring had been the work 
of an overruling Providence, and hence must be submitted 
to with the slight mitigation of a little gently-expressed 
regret. Miss Gaily Henderson, like a great many other 
good folks I wot of, was the tiniest bit in the world incon- 
sistent, not having as yet succeeded in being perfect as 
was her Eather in heaven. 

Noah’s ark was brought into requisition early the next 
morning to convey Esther Brandon back to Locust Grove. 

Miss Gaily followed her right down to the carriage-door, 
and gave her two resonant and impressive kisses by way of 
leave-taking. 

Good-by, dear child ! Don’t go home and fret. Bern em- 
ber that ^ what can’t be cured must be endured : ’ that’s 
my philosophy.” 

“ Home ! ” echoed Essie bitterly as she sank back on the 
musty cushions of the old carriage, and thought drearily of 
the cramped little bedroom waiting for her, and the white- 
washed schoolroom, with its rough, bare floor, and its sun- 
blistered walls, and every thing else that was painful and 
disagreeable in her lot, as female philosophers are wont to 
do when they sink their ideal philosophy in their real 
womanhood. 

0 Essie, Essie! where is your ancient resolve to be ^^a 
hero in the strife ” ? lam afraid — as you recline in solitary 
stateliness in Miss Gally’s ark, your beautiful head drooped 
in sombre meditation, your violet eyes dark with gloom 
and despondency, the tell-tale drag in the corners of your 
mouth standing out in bold relief — you look and feel very 
much more like “dumb, driven cattle.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


127 


The six miles that intervened between Locust Grove and 
the Oaks were not an unknown quantity to the sad-faced, 
flea-bitten white horse, and his lively companion, knock- 
kneed Jinny ; and they trotted along with a cheerful con- 
tentedness that was a lesson to bipeds, switching the flies 
off with their tails, and taking surreptitious bites from Mr. 
Golding’s corn as they travelled through his field, until 
they brought up with unexpected speed before the house- 
gate. 

Then Essie’s return to what she, in her ungrateful heart, 
called her prison-house, was heralded by a whooping an- 
nouncement from Frank, with a yelping accompaniment 
from the pack of hounds, who yelped mournfully, on princi- 
ple, at every thing and every body that wasn’t a gun or a 
huntsman. 

It was nearly noon when Essie reached home. Her heart 
smote her in that she could in no manner reciprocate the 
cordial warmth of her reception. The good man of the 
house scrambled up from the hammock, in which he spent 
two-thirds of the summer-time, lazily swinging, and staring 
contentedly up at the tree-tops, and came to meet her, pull- 
ing on his brown linen coat as he walked. And what if his 
hair was standing up like quills upon the fretful porcu- 
pine,” and one side of his rubicund face was indented like 
a neatly-baked waffle with the diamond net-work of the 
hammock, and the expansive bow of his muslin neck-tie 
had gayly cocked itself behind his right ear? — did all that 
mar the honest pleasure in his honest blue eyes, or the cor- 
dial clasp of his great hard hand ? 

And close behind him waddled ample Mrs. Golding in 
long, loose linen blouse, her good-natured face shiniiig with 
the warmth of summer and real affection, armed with a big 
palmetto-fan, which she hoisted around Queen Zenobia’s 
stately neck with inconsiderate haste, as she carried two 
plump arms up, not without considerable exertion, to testify 
to her heartfelt gladness at having Miss Essie home agaiin 
Miss Gaily would have thought only of the affection it indi- 
cated. Essie did think of the affection ; but she resented 
the bristles of the fan that went along with it. 

And what if they did all talk at once ? — Mr. Golding ask- 
ing insane questions about the crops at the Oaks (as if she 
even knew the Oaks had such a thing), Mrs. Golding beg- 


128 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


ging lo know how Miss Gaily kept her butter from turning 
to oil this boiling weather, Frank informing her that Kip 
had killed a coon the night before, andFTannie begging her 
to come out and look at Speckle’s new calf. What if they 
did, I say ? They were just treating her like one of the 
family. They didn’t all expect to be answered at once: 
there was some comfort in that, if £ssie had been in a frame 
of mind to take comfort in any thing; but I am afraid she 
wasn’t. 

The summons to dinner came by the time she had laid 
aside her bonnet, shaken the dust from her heavy black 
dress, bathed her face, and brushed the soft brown hair 
away from her heated forehead. 

“If you had let me know what day you were coming 
home. Miss Essie, I’d have tried to get up something extra 
for you ; but I hope you’ll be able to make your dinner 
out.” And Mrs. G-olding glanced over her well-filled table 
with that deceitful appearance of anxiety that notable house- 
wives are fond of assuming. 

“You are all so good to me, that I am not likely to suffer 
for any thing,” said Essie, making her lips, which were more 
tractable than her stubborn heart, offer a response to these 
kind-hearted employers of hers. 

But, oh, the square dining-room, with its dingy-brown 
papering, and its blue calico fan (waving monotonously over 
their heads by intermittent jerks, that came with the pre- 
cision of clock-work, as the small son of Ham, who worked 
the machinery, nodded at his post, or started into unneces- 
sary and unnatural vitality, by way of convincing everybody 
that sleep was the desire farthest from his heart or eyes), 
did present such a contrast to the cool, airy octagon, in which, 
for the past two or three days. Miss Brandon had feasted 
from the rare old cbina and massive plate of the Etheridges ! 
And the cabbage and pork which Mr. Golding was dis- 
pensing with such oleaginous complacency was so gross ! 
And wh}^ couldn’t that wretched fly, if it was bent on com- 
mitting suicide, have selected some better time and place 
than the vinegar cruet ? How much wiser and happier was 
that other fly, tripping “the light fantastic toe” on the yield- 
ing surface of the pat of butter, in a floundering fashion to 
be sure, but with ultimate prospects of being rescued from 
a greasy grave ! And what an aggravation of all her trials 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


129 


it was to have that stupid Ailsey persistently and repeatedly 
stick the sweet-potato pone close up under her nose, as if 
trying to tempt her palate through the medium of her olfac- 
tories ! it being hard for Ailsey to grasp the possible existence 
of a pair of olfactories so perverse as to remain impervious 
to “ sweet-tater pone ; ’’ when, if Ailsey had been endowed 
with a pig’s power of observation, she must have known 
Miss Brandon never touched sweet-potato pone. Then 
it was so hot ! She had never yet mastered the art of 
fanning with one hand, and dissecting her food with a 
single utensil, as had Mrs. Golding ; so she either had to 
eat, and not fan ; or fan, and not eat. In her then reckless 
frame of mind, eating was a carnal occupation with which 
she could readily and permanently dispense : so she was 
not sorry when Mr. Golding, bis face wearing that child- 
like and bland” smile that only visits the male physiog- 
nomy at the close of a satisfactory meal, pushing back his 
chair with the air of having dined, moved for an adjourn- 
ment. 

Esther pleaded fatigue ; and, retiring to her own room, 
she flung herself into her big, chintz-covered easy-chair, and 
took herself roundly to task : but either the spirit was unwill- 
ing, or the flesh was too weak ; for, try as she would, she 
did not succeed in working herself up into a remorseful 
frame of mind. 

Was it her fault, her rebellious heart kept asking, that 
she wasn’t mild and amiable and contented and easy-going 
like these people ? Hadn’t the God that had made her tall, 
and Mrs. Golding short, Mrs. Golding fat, and her thin, 
given her dark eyes, and Mrs. Golding light, given Mrs. 
Golding her placid content, and herself her restless soul ? 
Would she be so wretched and restless, if she had all her 
heart’s desires as had these easy souls ? Had they a wish 
that money could not satisfy? Had they any cravings 
after the beautiful that they were compelled by stern ne- 
cessity to repress ? Hot one. They were perfectly satisfied 
with themselves and their belongings: so why shouldn’t 
they be smiling and good-tempered ? Their children were fat 
and healthy. Did it trouble them that they were not beau- 
tiful nor brilliant ? Ho. Then they were not to^ be pitied 
because their children weren’t brilliant nor beautiful. The 
surroundings of the Oaks were all elegance and refinement 5 


130 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


those at Locust Grove, bounteous and comfortable. Did a 
pang of envy ever rufde the placid current of Mrs. Golding’s 
life ? Not one. She had no aspirations for the beautiful : 
therefore she was not to be pitied in that she possessed it 
not. Hadn’t she, Esther Brandon, once upon a time, been 
sweet-tempered and light-hearted and unenvious, when the 
future was rosy with hope? Was she so much worse than 
other people because she could not be sweet-tempered and 
light-hearted and unenvious, now that it was black with 
troubles not of her own manufacturing ? 

It was not without several praiseworthy struggles in a 
contrary direction that Essie finally allowed herself to drift 
away upon this stream of gloomy introspection. Reason 
uttered more than one faint protest against its folly and 
futility; but her voice was drowned in the clamorous outcries 
of a young and ardent spirit, sore and smarting beneath a 
burden that was almost too heavy for her weak shoulders. 
Conscience took her soundly to task for her cold acceptance 
of the honest affection within her grasp, — the respect and 
esteem of the good people with whom she had cast in her 
lot. 

Honest affection, respect, and esteem ! — husks, husks, 
husks, dried and withered, affording no sustenance to the 
passionate cravings of her bereaved soul ! Honest affection, 
esteem, respect ! — stones, when she asked for bread ! 

Could she wipe Alfred Walworth’s image from the tablets 
of her loving memory ? Could she open the sacred cham- 
ber wherein she had once enthroned him king of her soul, 
sweep and garnish it, set it in order, and invite Mr. and 
Mrs. Golding to enter in and take possession, and promise 
to be entirely content with the sorry substitute ? Was it 
her fault that she could not kill memory ? Who would not 
forget if he could? Was it her fault that the flowers of 
faith and trust and hope, that Philip Walworth had so mer- 
cilessly trampled under foot, refused to bloom again at her 
bidding. Ah, God of pity ! had she not tried to bow sub- 
missively? — to be quiet and patient? Was it her fault that 
nature was stronger than will ? Had she not tried to sup- 
press every moan as she struggled on single-handed against 
the world? Was it her fault that she had stumbled so of 
late? Whose fault was it? Miss Cally’s, she believed. 
She had come into her life with her little caressing ways, 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


131 


and tender pity, and winning sympathy, touching the icy 
bridge that Essie had built over her heart, and to which 
she had intrusted the safe keeping of her stoical resolves, 
with the warm touch of human love and sympathy ; and the 
treacherous ice had melted beneath that touch, leaving the 
girl stranded on a bleak shore, conscious only of her own 
weakness and misery and helplessness, unconscious yet 
a while that that same human love was to build for her a 
stronger and better bridge, uniting her indissolubly with 
her kind. 

With sudden resolution, Esther sprang up from her chair. 

I ought to be ashamed of myself, shutting myself up in 
this selfish fashion on the first day of my return ; and they 
so glad to see me ! I’ll go straight out, and be as agreeable 
as I can be for the rest of the day.” 

But alas for human resolves ! 

When Esther, brimful of good intentions, emerged from 
her room into the family sitting-room, she found its various 
members therein assembled. Sound asleep on his face upon 
the floor lay Frank ; while in undesirable proximity to his 
were a pair of case-hardened, coal-black feet, belonging and 
appertaining unto his own particular pet, — a diminutive black 
urchin, whose ostensible occupation was fanning his sleep- 
ing friend and master with a twin-fan to the one Mrs. Gold- 
ing never relaxed her hold of ; whose real occupation was 
empirical efforts to discover how close one nodding head 
may be brought into juxtaposition with another head with- 
out danger of a collision. Nannie was trying, with the 
assistance of her “ black familiar,” to convince Eip that 
one of Mrs. Golding’s best ruffled night-caps was the most 
desirable summer head-wear for dogs of his age and posi- 
tion. But Bip seemed to have views of his own on the 
subject, and sleepily refused to be night-capped. Mr. and 
Mrs. Golding were killing the long summer evening by 
playing backgammon. I really think it was the sight of 
that backgammon-board that put to flight the last remnant 
of complacency in Esther’s breast for that day. That 
species of the human family that could sit quietly and 
patiently in the close proximity necessary to preserve the 
equilibrium of the board upon two pairs of knees on such 
an evening as this, rattling a dice-box with one hand, while 
the other was kept in active pursuit of flies on the nose, and 


132 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


mosquitoes on the ankles ; calling out the throws patiently 
and monotonously ; monotonously and patiently being put 
on the fence/’ and getting off the fence ; uttering stale, 
placid jokes in a placidly stale fashion upon the ever- 
recurring catastrophes of the game, — a mild ^^Now, father! 
how could you ? a milder, Look out, deary ! I’ll catch 
you ! ” constituting the most exciting efforts in the conver- 
sational line, — that species of the human family, I repeat, 
that could voluntarily engage in such puerile amusement, 
was a foreign species to the dark-eyed girl who had just 
heroically determined to make the amende honorable. 

With them, but not of them,” muttered Essie. “ I hate 
contented people ! Contentment is inimical to all sorts of 
improvement : contentment makes people stupid.” 

Esther, Esther! I think you want a dose of Dover’s 
powder to calm your nervous excitement.” She turned, and 
went back to her room, altogether at outs with herself and 
the world. 

Altogether, my heroine was in a had way. If you can 
conceive of a dumb, driven hero, a weeping oak, or a 
pouting philosopher, you can reconcile poor Essie as she 
wanted to be, and Essie as she was. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


IS A RAMBLING ONE. 

Ruskin says that men’s proper business in this world 
falls mainly into three divisions : — 

First, to know themselves and the existing state of 
things they have to do with. 

Secondly, to be happy in themselves and the existing 
state of things. 

“ Thirdly, to mend themselves and the existing state of 
things as far as either are marred or mendable. 

These, I say, are the three plain divisions of proper 
human business on this earth.” 

For these three the following are usually substituted and 
adopted by human creatures : — 

First, to be totally ignorant of themselves and the exist- 
ing state of things. 

Secondly, to be miserable in themselves and the existing 
state of things. 

Thirdly, to let themselves and the existing state of things 
alone (at least, in the way of correction). 

And, as Alfred Walworth had never leaned kindly toward 
the proper study of mankind,” he did not know himself. 

A fortunate thing, on the whole, I am inclined to think ; 
for his amour propre would inevitably have suffered by 
a more intimate acquaintanceship. . 

He had entered upon the threshold of life brimful of noble 
ambition and the daring insolence of youth. He spent no 
anxious thoughts upon what he could do, but boldly as- 
serted what he would do. The world had treated him like 


134 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


a doting mother, — weakly indulgent to his short-comings, 
fondly granting his every desire : hence he patted the 
world upon the back, and pronounced it the best sort of a 
world. He respected mankind through his father, to him 
the typical man, — upright, honorable, gentlemanly. He 
reverenced womankind because of the saintly mother, 
whose exalted virtues inclined him to apotheosize the whole 
sex. 

When, lo ! a fair-faced, queenly girl comes into his life, 
takes full possession of his ardent soul, gives vow for vow, 
and makes the earth a paradise for a short, blest awhile. 
Then a foul, black mystery settles like a pall over the sun- 
light of his existence. Thatuprigbt, honorable, gentleman- 
ly father, the typical man, turns unjust, harsh, mysterious ; 
and the fair-faced queen of his heart flies from his proffered 
love like a thief in the night, taking with her all his bright 
faith, his noble ambitions, his proud resolves to do and dare. 
And he said in his haste. All men are liars.’’ 

But as, at the early age of twenty-one, a man does not 
cease plotting and planning for the future, baser ambitions, 
lower resolves, supplied the place of those that had been 
torn from him so ruthlessly along with his faith in the 
honor of men and the truth of women. 

So he nobly resolved to marry for money, the demon of 
avarice having come in to take possession of his disordered 
soul. Hardly six months had elapsed after his affaire with 
Esther Brandon before he had engaged himself to Miss 
Maggie Vincent, the richest girl in all the country round. 

Before taking the irrevocable leap, however, he had inter- 
viewed his father, standing before him with folded arms, 
looking very sullen and very stern, as had been his wont 
of late when compelled to hold any communication with 
this inconsistent parent, who had first helped to win Essie 
for him, and then turned round in savage resistance to their 
union, without even deigning to give good and sufficient 
reasons therefor. And Philip Walworth submitted to this 
sullen disrespect on the part of the son he loved so well 
with a strange meekness; wincing under it, but never 
resenting it; acting as a conscience-stricken soul might 
under well-merited punishment ; which is but a clumsy guess 
at the reason why Mr. Walworth was so unaccountably pa- 
tient under the frequent display of distrust to which his boy 
treated him. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


135 


“Father/’ began the young man in this interview, “ I am 
thinking of getting married.” 

A look of pleasure, not unmixed with surprise, came into 
Philip Walworth’s still handsome face. 

“ My dear boy, to whom ? You don’t know how much 
satisfaction your words cause me.” 

“ To Miss Vincent ” was the laconic reply, without any 
lighting-up of the eye, or gentler intonation in the voice, to 
indicate that the name touched a tender chord. 

“ Miss Maggie Vincent, the daughter of Vincent and 
Crump ? ” — bestowing upon his proposed daughter-in-law 
a plurality of fathers in his glad eagerness. 

“ Yes.” 

“ A most unexceptionable match, my dear boy ! She is a 
charming girl ; so gentle and sweet, with her mild blue eyes 
and golden curls ! ” 

“ And coffers,” put in Miss Vincent’s suitor with a most 
unlover-like sneer. 

“ My son, I hope you do not consider me mercenary ? ” 
And. there was honest resentment in the father’s tone and. 
manner ; for, whatever else he was, the man was not merce- 
nary. 

“ I do not know what to consider you of late, sir,” was 
the coolly disrespectful reply. “ Time was when I would 
gladly have throttled any man daring enough to hint at the 
possibility of your ever proving recreant to the calls of truth 
or honor. I could not do as much now.” 

Philip Walworth clinched his fist in impotent wrath, 
while a crimson flush of shame dyed his broad forehead. 

“ Boy, did you come here this morning merely to insult 
me?” 

“No, father! I came here to utter one more plea for the 
only true love of my life ; to ask you, for the last time, to 
tell me what it is that came so suddenly and mysteriously 
between me and. the one woman I can ever love fully and 
entirely.” 

“ And. I tell you, for the last time, you have heard all that 
you will ever hear from me on that subject.” 

“Is the obstacle which separates us an insuperable 
one ? ” 

“ Yes, hoy ; by Heaven it is ! ” was the emphatic rejoinder. 

“ Will it last through life ? ” 


136 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


‘‘ And into eternity/^ 

Do not think/^ exclaimed Alfred with sudden fierceness, 
‘Hhat I would plead with you thus if it were not for this 
hopeless little note that I finally extracted from Esther 
Brandon, who is either the most consummate hypocrite 
that ever disgraced the name of woman, or else the victim 
of some hellish machinations in which I am compelled to 
believe you have a hand/^ And he read aloud from a 
crumpled letter he took from his pocket : — 

‘ Do not send any more letters to Madame Celestine’s : 
you may only be baring your soul to vulgar curiosity. I 
leave here to-morrow, to go where you are never likely to 
hear of me again, One word for myself, Alfred : I never 
wronged you in word, thought, or deed. I am innocent of 
this monstrous thing that has come between us. But your 
father is right. Unless, indeed, the father of lies has in- 
vented a hideous one to keep us asunder, there exist obsta- 
cles to our union, so fearful, so insuperable, that to write 
even this faint hint of them has caused me greater agony 
than God grant you may ever experience in your whole 
life.’ ” ■ 

‘^What is ‘the possible hideous lie’ she hints at so 
darkly ? ” demanded the reader of his father. 

“ She is not the victim of hellish machinations,” was the 
irrelevant reply. 

“ Then she is a consummate hypocrite ! ” 

The author of all this woe maintained a dumb silence. 
Why should he turn champion, in the abstract, for this poor 
girl, upon whom the burden of this thing fell heaviest ? How 
could it hurt her now for Alfred to think her a hypocrite ? 
He was about to marry another woman, anyhow; and 
would soon forget her, thank Heaven ! And, if he defended 
her against the charge of hypocrisy, it would just start 
Alfred off on a fresh tack ; and he was heart-sick and weary 
of the whole thing. On the other hand, he was conscious 
of a strangely resentful feeling against this girl, who had 
come with her innocent beauty and winning ways into his 
placid life, and stirred the stream to its muddiest depths. 
Why could she not have remained away in her obscurity, 
or else chosen to steer her frail little bark toward clearer 
streams and calmer seas ? It was a spiteful trick that Fate 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


137 


and Esther Brandon had played him j and in proportion to 
his helplessness was his wrath. 

He did not come out with the boldness of his great exem- 
plar Adam, and lay the blame at the woman’s door in so many 
words ; ^ hut he maintained a pregnant silence, and let the 
conviction that Esther Brandon was a consummate hypo- 
crite sink deep down into the heart that had loved her 
passionately, but not loyally, where it was to strike root, 
thrive like a noxious weed, grow and spread, until, like the 
deadly upas-tree, it should shed its poisonous breath over 
the man’s whole soul. 

So, with no decrease of the distrust he felt for his father, 
but a strong increase of contempt for Esther and the per- 
fidious sex to which she belonged, Alfred Walworth went 
out from his father’s presence straightway into that of Miss 
Maggie Vincent, and wooed her with a reckless savagery, 
that said very plainly, I’ll marry you if you say ^ Yes ; ’ 
but I won’t heave a sigh if you say ^ISTo.’ ” 

But Miss Vincent had no notion of saying “Ho.” So 
they were married, as we’ve seen long ago, and went abroad, 
en famine^ as we’ve also seen, and came back — not just 
as they went ; for in a foreign graveyard, under a linden, 
they had stood beside an open grave, and seen a rosewood 
coffin lowered into its depths, as all that was mortal of 
Philip Walworth’s beloved wife was put away out of 
sight. 

The last words her fond lips had framed were words of 
tender invocation, calling on the Comforter to be with the 
beloved consort, who, during a long life of wedded happi- 
ness, had never once forgotten his bridal promise, “to love, 
honor, and protect.” 

And as the caressing arms, whose last motion had been 
to twine themselves lovingly around the bowed neck of 
“ Philip her king,” fell heavy and rigid upon the white 
bed-covering, and he knew that the golden bowl was broken, 
the silver cord was loosed, he rose from his kneeling pos- 
ture ; and, bending to imprint a kiss upon each pure eyelid, 
he murmured half audibly, “ Thank God ! she will never 
know.” 

Will she not? Does she not already, Philip Walworth? 
And, if the angels of light could grieve, would she not 


138 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


mourn to find that the man she had bowed down to and 
worshipped, when, here below, she saw through a glass 
darkly, now that he stands revealed in the light of truth 
eternal, is no longer Philip her king,’’ hut a sin-stained 
soul, over whom she yearns with angelic pity, praying be- 
fore the great white throne that he may he brought to see 
the error of his ways before he he called hence and he no 
more seen. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN WHICH A PROPOSITION IS MADE GOOD. 

This your servant pleads guilty, dear reader, to having 
inflicted upon you a most rambling chapter, erratic in its 
meanderings, unsatisfactory in its conclusion, in that it 
failed to make good the proposition with which it started 
out. Let your servant make the amende. 

If any one had been so daring as to tell Alfred Walworth 
in so many words, that for urbane courteousness of man- 
ners he had substituted a hrusquerie amounting almost to 
rudeness, that knightly obeisance to females he had ex- 
changed for a contemptuous sort of deference that was almost 
a sneer, in consequence of all which he was rapidly losing 
his reputation as a preux chevalier, he would, most likely, 
have doubled up a formidable fist, and have promptly pun- 
ished the offender for his daring insinuation, that he, Alfred 
Walworth, ever had been or ever could be lacking in gentle- 
manly attributes ; whereby he would have vindicated his 
bravery and my firstly by giving irrefragable proof that 
he was totally ignorant of himself and of the existing state 
of things. 

Again : Fortune, with one or two frowning exceptions, had 
smiled on Alfred Walworth from chubby babyhood up to 
restless manhood. Health, good looks, fine talents, un- 
bounded means, all were his. But Fortune had chosen to 
rob him of Esther Brandon, his beautiful but obscure love, 
and had offered him as a substitute Maggie Vincent, beau- 
tiful, and not obscure, bringing with her riches to multiply 
his riches : all *of which he accepted sullenly, closing his 

139 


140 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


eyes to the brightness left in his lot ; fretting, after the man- 
ner of puny man, for the one good denied him ; visiting 
his spleen not seldom on those around him, in his obstinate 
determination to prove that Mr. Euskin’s second division 
of man’s proper business was all a mistake ; taking a grim 
satisfaction in being miserable in himself and the existing 
state of things. 

Lastly : how triumphantly my thirdly is established by 
his growing indifference to the infelicity of his married life ! 
Margaret had every thing she wanted. Did he ever deny 
her any thing ? Did he rail at her, or fume over her in- 
competency as a housekeeper, as many another man would 
have done ? Didn’t he let her alone ? And what more 
could she ask ? What more could any reasonable woman 
ask ? 

My lord, she didn’t want to he let alone. No sure-enough 
woman ever does (a sure-enough woman is a thing two- 
thirds heart, and one-third head). She would greatly have 
preferred that you should rail at her, and fume over her 
short-comings in the morning, and kiss and make up in the 
evening, begging her pardon for your bearishness, calling 
yourself a brute candidly and truthfully, by way of giving 
her a shadowy excuse for throwing two white weak arms 
around your lordly neck, and vowing foolishly that you’re 
not a bear nor a brute, nor any thing but what is splendid 
and manly and lovable, and herself a naughty ne’er-do-weel, 
who loves you, and will try to do better next time. After 
which, a holy calm ! Little thundery gusts like that do 
more good than harm, clearing the matrimonial -atmosphere 
in a healthy fashion. But kind Heaven pity the woman 
who marries a man that believes in letting his wife alone ! 

There is a homely old proverb which says, There are 
more ways of killing a dog than by hanging him ; ” and 
what reflective dog, if he is given his choice, would not pre- 
fer being knocked promptly in the head, or hung by the 
neck until he was dead, dead, dead, to being shut up in a 
dismal garret and let alone ? Letting, alone, in the long- 
run, amounts to death by starvation ; ” which is the only 
true verdict for dogs, or women’s hearts. 

The Walworths continued to live in one house after Mrs. 
Walworth’s death ; Mira assuming the chai%e of the house- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


141 


keeping to save her sister-in-law, whose increasing delicacy 
alarmed her womanly heart some time before it pierced 
the obtuse male intelligence of her father or brother that 
any thing ailed Maggie. Of her own accord, she invited 
the attention of their family physician to her sister’s con- 
dition. 

“ Don’t let her know that you are observing her, doctor ; 
for she grows defiant in a moment if she thinks you consider 
her delicate.” 

So, quietly, the wise physician took note of Maggie’s 
symptoms ; the result of which was a conversation be- 
tween himself and Mr. Alfred Walworth. He spoke to the 
young man with the freedom of a father; as who had a 
better right, having assisted at his advent into this trouble- 
some world? 

Alfred, my boy, are you quite sure, that, now you’ve 
taken unto yourself a wife, you’re not somewhat in the 
position of the man who drew the elephant ? ” 

What do you mean, sir ? ” 

Well, you know the man didn’t know exactly what to 
do with the elephant after he’d drawn it.” 
fail to see the simile.” 

You do ? Well, then, in plain words, are you right sure, 
now that you have entered into absolute ownership and 
mastership of a creature frail as glass, ^ fearfully and won- 
derfully made,’ that you know how to treat her ? ” 

“ Does Mrs. Walworth complain of my treatment ? ” 
asked her husband, flushing angrily. 

■ Bless her pretty face ! Tut, boy ! of course she doesn’t 
complain of your treatment, which, for all I know to tlie 
contrary, may be a model for the guidance of all other 
spouses or would-be spouses.” 

AVhat then ? I don’t follow you.” 

I merely want to give you a piece of friendly advice, 
which, of course, you are at liberty to act upon, or not, just 
as you see fit. I am aware of no good reason why you 
should cling like a lichen to the walls of this old house 
simply because you were born in it. You have plenty of 
money to warrant you in a costly experiment. This climate 
is too bleak for your wife’s delicate frame. I will not 
answer for her living five years longer if kept here. Try a 
softer and milder atmosphere, — Cuba, the south of France, 


142 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Florida, or any other of the Southern States that may suit 
your fancy. They say the sugar-regions of Louisiana are 
highly beneficial to persons consumptively inclined. Now 
I’ve had my say : a hint to the wise,” &c. And the good 
old doctor got up, and went away, totally unconscious that 
he had been acting deputy to Fate. 

Mira was the only person to whom Alfred ever turned in 
consultation, or for advice, now that his mother was dead, 
and his heart was hardened against his father : so he told 
his sister all that the doctor had said. 

And Mira, whose memory was better than his relative to 
their happy sojourn with the Somerses, reminded him of 
that plantation near the Oaks which was to be sold under 
mortgage. 

But how do we know that it is not sold by this time ? ” 

We don’t know. But Mr. Somers gave you the address 
of the agent in New Orleans ; and you can easily find out 
by writing to him.” 

Which he did, and heard, in due course of time, that 
Belton was still in the market ; and after a tremendous deal 
of writing and travelling backwards and forwards on the part 
of a trustworthy agent of his own, who went in person to 
be judge of the land (a position which Alfred knew himself 
utterly incapable of filling), Belton passed from its ancient 
ownership into that of Mr. Alfred Walworth, who was to 
take possession of it in the early fall, being fearful of 
moving down during the heated term into the Dismal 
Swamp, where agues do prevail, and mosquitoes “ most do 
congregate.” 

As, in a small country neighborhood like that of Le Noir, 
every thing is grist for the social news-mill, it was not long 
before it came to be known at Locust Grove that the fine 
plantation, just three miles below them on the river, had 
been purchased by a Mr. Abner Walruss, who was to move 
on it in the fall. 

What a ridiculous name ! ” commented Miss Brandon ; 
with which she dismissed from mind and memory the fact 
that there was a Belton or a Walruss in the wide, wide 
world. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BAR OF CONSCIENCE. 

If it really be true tbat Satan busies himself to find work 
for idle bands, I think it is doubly true that he finds occu- 
pation for idle minds with the most officious alacrity ; and 
I think he must have felicitated himself upon the frame of 
mind into which he had worked Esther Brandon on the first 
evening of her return from the Oaks. 

She lay awake a long time that night, thinking, — think- 
ing of a great many things soberly and sensibly. 

In the calmness of reflection she reviewed the past few 
days. Conscience arraigned her under three separate indict- 
ments, — to wit, envious repinings after the elegance and 
luxury of the Oaks, to which she had fitted herself in too 
readily; lack of wisdom in comparing her lot as it was 
with her lot as it might have been ; want of appreciation 
of the real blessings in her situation : to all of whicli her 
heart answered, Guilty,” but pleaded ^^Extenuating circum- 
stances” with the readiness of that readiest of all special 
pleaders, — a woman’s heart. 

What was envy ? Was it not to look upon the possessions 
of another with grudging or invidious eyes ? And did she 
desire that Roger Etheridge, or his beautiful sister Estella, 
should be deprived of one luxury, one atom of the beauty 
of the Oaks, one blessing from among their plenty, for her 
sake ? Xo : she did not envy them. She only gave idle 
vent to tastes that were born in her, and liad burst into sud- 
den bloom in their native atmosphere of beauty and refine- 
ment. Was it her fault that she could not turn away from 

143 


144 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


tilings tliat aiforded her starved nature such exquisite ali- 
ment, without sending a plaintive sigh of regret after them ? 
— a foolish sigh, maybe, foolish and vain, but none the less 
natural. If it was horn in her to give the preference to 
lofty architecture, grand old libraries, flowery terraces, and 
rich-toned harps in moonlit alcoves, over slip-shod comfort, 
blue calico fans, and chintz-covered eyries, was she to be 
morally ostracized for wishing they were hers ? Wherein 
lay the crime ? In the possession of those tastes, or in the 
knowledge of the possession? She did not envy others: 
she only pitied her own poverty-stricken life. 

Then conscience brought in her second indictment, — 
lack of wisdom in drawing these vain comparisons ; against 
which charge the prisoner at the bar found it hard to defend 
herself satisfactorily, — so hard, in fact, that, with true femi- 
nine tact, she covered the whole ground by a meek admission, 
that she knew it wasn’t wise : but she didn’t lay claini to 
the least bit of wisdom ; and then — she just couldn’t help it. 
Tinally, was that indictment about want of appreciation of 
the real blessings in her lot, — was it, after all, a substantial 
charge ? Did she not know that very few governesses were 
treated as she was by the Goldings ? — more like an honored 
guest than a salaried employee. And did she not appreci- 
ate it by liking them as well as she could ? Did she not 
think her employers just the honestest and kindest-hearted 
people that ever lived ? Could she think them the most re- 
fined and interesting? Wasn’t she, as a general rule, quiet 
and good-tempered, trying to keep her own private trials out 
of sight? Was she so very much to blame, that, once in a 
while, her burden pressed so sore that her tortured spirit 
groaned aloud ? 

So conscience brought in a verdict of “ Guilty,” with rec- 
ommendations to mercy. 

These midnight reflections upon the short-comings of that 
one day carried Essie back, by a natural sequence, to a con- 
sideration of the causes for her irritation, which led back 
to the Oaks ; which brought back Faust and the cool, dim, 
library ; which reproduced Miss Cally, as she sat spell-bound 
under her reading ; which begat the desire to try her pow- 
ers upon a more critical audience ; which re-awakened her 
determination to become a dramatic reader : and so, 

while the trailing garments of the night swept through 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


145 


her marble halls ” toward the bright portals of another day, 
Essie’s resolve took shape and substance, and sprang into 
hardy existence with the marvellous rapidity of Jack’s bean- 
stalk of yore. 

I will go to good Miss Cally’s every Friday. She will 
give me the freedom of the magnificent collection of books in 
her grand old library. I will read hard for the rest of this 
year and the next. Thanks to madame’s thorough course in 
elocution, I think I know what I am undertaking ; and then 
— and then — I will make a name! ” In her eager enthu- 
siasm, uprose Essie in her bed, hurling her defiance at fate, 
aloud, through the haunted chambers of the night. Then 
peacefully she sank to sleep. 

And presently upon the solemn stillness clanged the 
brazen tongue of the huge plantation-bell, Clang-lang, clang- 
lang ! ” and still another clashed in, knd another swelled the 
chorus ; and a faint horn sent its mellow voice across the gray 
mist that enveloped the sleeping world; and a thousand ju- 
bilant voices piped their songs of praise ; and the hounds 
chanted their banshee-wail beneath the window ; and a myr- 
iad feathered pensioners gave voice to vain desire ; and, far 
and wide, ambitious roosters sent friendly greetings, all join- 
ing in one grand, clashing discord, to announce the wonder- 
ful tidings that a woman had made up her mind, and that a 
new day was born unto time. And, rending the gray gar- 
ments of the misty morning with rosy fingers, the king of 
day peeped through the girl’s latticed blinds with a bright, 
glad smile, that fell about her like a benediction. 

So you are resolved, dear ? ” And Miss Cally’s voice was 
anxious ; her face was clouded ; and she nodded her short 
black front-curls mournfully to and fro, — a- sure signal of 
distress with their little bright-faced owner. 

Esther Brandon had jUst been baring her resolution, to 
become a dramatic reader, to Miss Gaily, asking for the use 
of her library and her books. 

I am resolved.” Queen Zenobia’s voice rang out clearly 
and firmly, her face shone with the light of indomitable 
resolvej her full red lips were tightly compressed, and her 
lissome white hands she clasped resolutely together, as she 
flashed her beautiful eyes full upon her anxious questioner. 

Then, dear child, I see nothing for it but to help you all 
10 


146 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


I can ; for, ^ when a woman will, she will, yon may de- 
pend on’t/ And, just so you promise me never to turn 
covetous eyes toward those horrid wretches that whirl about 
in such disgracefully short clothes. I’ll promise you to help 
you all I can,” was Miss Cally’s unconditional surrender. 

Essie laughed scornfully as she gave a promise that it 
required no great exertion to give, relieving Miss Gaily for- 
ever of the horrible anticipation of spangled tarlatan and 
silk tights. 

And, now that Esther had found work for her hands to 
do, she fell to with a will, leaving her satanic patron discon- 
solate, as plan after plan, among his very best laid ones, 
went aglee, because she had no time to listen to him. 

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and the fore- 
noon of Friday, dragged a little; although Essie filled 
them faithfully with duties cheerfully and conscientiously 
performed. But when Friday’s dinner was hastily de- 
spatched, and she donned her riding-habit, and black Bess 
(the gentle pacer that Mr. Golding had put exclusively at 
her disposal) was brought up to the horse-block, and she 
mounted her, and cantered away alone to the Oaks (for, in 
that secluded country neighborhood, grooms were an un- 
heard-of affectation) by the prettily-wooded bridle-path, 
then, indeed, did the hours fly by on winged feet ; and the 
short, bright interval that elapsed between her arrival at 
the Oaks and her return to Locust Grove, on Sunday 
evening, was filled to the brim with ardent application, 
and placid enjoyment of Miss Gaily with her proverbs, and 
of sweet music extracted from the long-silent harp belong- 
ing to Boger Etheridge’s exiled wife. 

And the fateful days of this long, hot summer sped on, 
bringing nearer and nearer the time when Essie was to 
turn her back upon the little white-washed, sun-blistered 
schoolroom, with its patiently-endured trials and annoy- 
ances ; when she was to leave the homely shelter of Locust 
Grove, with its warm-hearted inmates ; when she was 
to bid adieu to tender-hearted Miss Gaily, so full of sympa- 
thy and bigotry, to go out in the world, anff test the wis- 
dom of that resolve made in the wee small hours of that 
night when her soul had been harassed with vain longings 
after what might have been. 

Bringing nearer and nearer the time when Roger Ether- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


147 


idge, footsore and weary from his long and vain search 
after oblivion, was to turn him once more toward his desert- 
ed home, going back to it with a heart void of the old 
masterful bitterness that had made him so cruelly merciless 
in the bygone time to the creature he had loved better than 
his life : for, in the eternal darkness in which his physical 
sight was veiled, his spiritual vision had grown clearer and 
stronger ; and now, when it was too late, alas ! to hind up 
the b^ruised reed, he was ready to lean , to mercy’s side, 
holding that to err is human ; to forgive, divine.” 

How gladly — ah ! how gladly, only the God who made 
him knew — would he now have lifted up that frail figure 
crouching in helpless woe at his feet, have kissed the 
anguish-stricken face with the kiss of divine forgiveness, 
have placed the strong arms of protecting love around the 
bowed penitent, repeating the tender words taught by 
Jesus af Hazareth, Thy sins are forgiven thee: go, and 
sin no more ” ! 

But, in his wrath, he had been more just than his Ma- 
ker; and now what avail these passionate regrets, these 
tender longings to return to the old home that had once 
been made bright by her fresh young beauty ? 

Of what avail ? Surely it was not the blind God of chance 
that turned Roger Etheridge’s tired soul homeward, but 
the God of love, that directs the most insignificant move- 
ment of his most insignificant creature. 

Bringing nearer and nearer the time when Alfred Wal- 
worth was to break loose from the old home, and move his 
household goods into the land of tha orange and myrtle, 
leaving behind him every thing that could remind him of 
the one passionate love of his boyhood ; for away from his 
father, against whom he hugged his sullen resentment, per- 
chance he would forget the motive-power for that resent- 
ment. Come what might, he longed to get out of the old 
ruts, as much or more from selfish motives as because it 
had been ordered for Maggie’s sake. 

Bringing nearer and nearer the melancholy days when 
the blighted verdure of the fields fled in dismay before the 
chill breath of autumn winds; when dismal white shreds of 
damp cotton clung desperately to the bare brown bole, 
while Summer, with bedraggled skirts, slunk sullenly away 
before her grim successor, sighing mournfully to leave her 


148 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


dead offspring lying in neglected heaps under the rose- 
trees in the old-fashioned garden at Locust Grove, on the 
flowery terraces at the Oaks, under the piles of wet, fallen 
leaves that rustled under the heavy tread of black Bess’s 
feet as she carried Essie to and from her life-work. 

Bringing nearer and nearer the time when Estella 
Somers was to learn that it is not wise to trample upon 
life’s holiest affections for the selfish gratification of one’s 
own desires j when she was to learn by bitter experience 
what it is to ask for bread, and receive a stone. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

ESTHER IS REMINDED OF A PROMISE. 

The carriage-road that communicated between tlie Oaks 
nd Locust Grove skirted along the hanks of the little 
river upon which both plantations fronted. The bridle- 
path which Esther followed in her weekly trips plunged 
into the woods bordering Mr. Golding’s land, and led in a 
bee-line through that gentleman’s property into the rear of 
the buildings at the Oaks, skirting by the grove in which 
the combined forces of the two families had held their pic- 
nic in the hot June days; so that Esther often caught 
glimpses of the bright new rail -fence that surrounded 
Aunt Dinah’s cabin. 

More than once had she mentally resolved, as the gleam- 
ing rails caught her eye through the interstices of the 
trees, to start earlier fiext Friday, and stop a half-hour 
with the old woman on her way to the Oaks. But as 
Friday after Friday came, laden with more eager anx- 
iety to get to her beloved study, she would canter by 
with an apologetic glance at the rail-fence, and a half- 
registered promise to stop as she came back. But as Sun- 
day after Sunday, on black Bess’s back, she pursued the 
same path on her return, the re-action from the exciting 
application of the past two days, together with a natural 
diminution of spirits, found her in a less willing and a 
less apologetic frame of mind. So Aunt Dinah was in a 
fair way of being forgotten, when she was suddenly and 
startlingly brought once more into contact with the young 
lady whose “ chance favor ” to her dead mistress had so 
startled her. 


149 


150 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


It was Friday ; and Esther had reached that point of the 
woods that touched most nearly on the stock-minder’s enclos- 
ure, when her attention was attracted by loud and piercing 
cries in a childish voice. Applying, the whip to Bess’s 
flanks, the young lady cantered briskly toward the spot from 
whence the doleful sounds api)eared to come. 

Leaning over the small wicket-gate was a small girl, just 
high enough to reach her head well over its top ; and from 
her capacious throat came the howls of despair that had 
attracted Esther’s attention. 

Hush screaming, and tell me what the matter is,” Miss 
Brandon demanded imperatively as she reined up at the 
gate. 

Gr’marmy’s got a fit, an’ gr’parpy’s gone wid de cat- 
tle,” sobbed Aunt Dinah’s frightened grand-daughter, who 
was always left at home to wait on the feeble old woman 
when the rest of the family were away at work. 

Esther sprang ligTitly from her saddle ; and, hitching black 
Bess securely to a ring in the gate-post, she told the sobbing 
child to run hunt for her grandfather, promising to stay 
with old Dinah until her return. Nothing loath to leave 
the dread proximity of ^^fits,” “Dumps,” as the sable 
mourner was euphoniously named, stared at the beautiful 
white lady for a moment, wondering vaguely if “ de good 
Lord ” had sent one of his angels in person to minister to 
her gr’marmy, and then took briskly to her heels, shout- 
ing “ Gr’parpy ” at every leap. 

Gathering up her long riding-skirt, Esther speeded into 
the cabin ; and there, to her i'mmense relief^ she found Aunt 
Dinah clothed and in her right mind, the fit having passed 
off before help came, and left her weak and panting from ex- 
haustion. She was sitting in her clumsy rocking-chair when 
the attack came on ; and there Essie found her. 

“ What can I do for you, aunty ? ” and she bent kindly 
over the old crone’s chair. 

With a feeble gesture, old Dinah pointed to a little wooden 
closet nailed against the wall, over the rough mantle-shelf. 
Following the direction of the finger, Esther opened the 
closet, and saw in a prominent position a flask of wdiiskey, 
near which sat a howl of coarse brown sugar. Seizing a 
tin cup, and pouring some hot water into it from a tea-kettle 
that was bubbling and singing on the wood-fire with the 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


151 


most heartlessly cheerful indifference to the extremity of its 
owner, Essie soon had a hot whiskey-punch concocted, 
with which she proceeded to feed Aunt Dinah with the help 
of a clumsy iron spoon that she extracted from the depths 
of the wooden closet. 

More than a dozen spoonfuls of the invigorating mixture 
had gone gurgling down the withered hlack throat before 
Aunt Dinah found the strength necessary for articulation. 

And, when her opening remark did come, it smacked 
somewhat of sullenness and ingratitude : — 

You’ve come at last, have you, mistris ? ” 

I’ve been very busy. Aunt Dinah ; hut I am sorry I neg- 
lected my promise to visit you.” And Essie’s sweet voice 
was meeldy apologetic. 

A few moments more of silence, during which Esther in- 
dustriously plied the iron spoon. Then Aunt Dinah spoke 
again, half to her visitor, half to herself, — 

I’ll never see Mars’ Eoger agin ! ” 

Oh, yes, you will ! Don’t talk so dolefully. You have 
a good long time to live yet, I hope.” 

Dis nigger knows more ’bout life an’ death than you 
does, chile. De angel Gabriel done soundid his trumpit 
already, calling dis darky home. Didn’ I done hear it 
wen de fit was on me ? ” 

As Essie couldn’t gainsay this assertion, she was wisely 
silent on that point ; only asking, — 

Have you been sick before this spasm seized you. Aunt 
Dinah ? ” 

JSTothin’ to speak of, chile.” 

Have you ever had one before ? ” 

Aunt Dinah gave vent to a grunt of superior scorn as she 
answered, Off ’n’ on ever sence I kin ’member like.” 

Then why should this one alarm you so ? ” 

Who say I’se skeered ? ” asked the sufferer briskly. 

Ho one ; but you spoke of never seeing your master 
again, and talked of dying.” 

^'^Ho more will I see Mars’ Roger, ’cause I’se jus’ hreakin’ 
up, natural like, day by day. But I’se ready, chile : de 
Lamb of God knows I’se ready an’ willin’ to go. But it’s 
the innard trouble* that weighs so heavy on me, till I can’t 
git de good of my vittles, seems like.” 

What is this trouble, Aunt Dinah ? Is it one that I 
can help you with ? ” 


152 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


“ Wliar’s de use of yo’ bein’ wite folks, an’ knowin’ all 
about book-lamin’, ef you can’t help a nigger out of de miry 
slough ? ” 

This was a view of the benefits accruing from education, 
so novel, that Essie could hardly repress a smile. But she 
pitied this old negress, who was evidently troubled by some 
secret too heavy for her simple soul to bear quietly. 

I will help you if I can, aunty : so let me hear what it 
is.” 

^^It is all about Mars’ Roger’s trouble, chile. Thar’s a 
thing or two I doubt ef he’s ever heard yit; an’ I ’lowed to 
tell him myself, ef I ever seed him agin. But my warnin’s 
ben sent me, an’ I know I’ll never see marster agin.” 

But if it is about Mr. Etheridge, Aunt Dinah, why not 
send for Miss Gaily, and tell her ? She is certainly the prop- 
er one for you to go to.” 

Aunt Dinah turned her head slowly around, and fixed her 
piercing black eyes upon Esther’s face, studying it in si- 
lence for full a minute. 

Chile, you don’ look like you was afraid of folks. Miss 
Gaily do : she’s ’fraid of Miss Stella. Ef I was to tell Miss 
Gaily wat I’se gwine to tell you, she’d go to Miss Stella wid 
it fus’ ; an’ that would be a po’ way of rightin’ them that’s 
ben wronged.” 

Esther was completely mystified. But she hesitated be- 
fore becoming the voluntary recipient of this mystery that was 
weighing so heavily upon Dinah’s ignorant soul. She would 
make sure first that the old woman’s motive in wishing to 
divulge it was a good one. 

Why do you wish to tell your secret to any one. Aunt 
Dinah ? ” 

So as they can tell Mars’ Roger the straight of things.” 

“How do you know he doesn’t know the straight of 
things already ? ” 

“ ’Cause I axed Miss Gaily, not more’n las’ Christmas ago, 

marster’s daughter was a-travellin’ about wid ’em all ; an’ 
she looked at me like I was crazy like, an’ tole me marster 
didn’ have no daughter: she was dead years an’ years 
ago.” 

“And how do you know Miss Gaily wasn’t right?” 

“She may be, mistris; but my heart misgives me: all 
she knows she got from Miss Stella.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


153 


And why should Mrs. Somers say that her niece was 
dead, if she really was not ? ’’ 

‘‘ ’Taint right, I s’pose, for niggers to pass judgment on 
white folks. But Miss Stella’s son’ll get all that belonged 
by rights to Mars’ Boger’s daughter. An’ this nigger’s ben 
watchin’ things mighty close, chile : she couldn’ help seein’ 
wid her eyes, an’ bearin’ wid her ears ; an’ she couldn’ help 
puttin’ two an’ two togedder, an’ makin’ four.” 

“ Do you think any good can come of your telling me this 
thing ? ” 

“ Ef you’ll tell it to Mars’ Boger for me, missy.” 

^^But I may never see him: in all probability, I never 
shall. ■ I can write it to him, though.” 

“ 'No, no, chile ! no writin’ ! ” 

''Why?” 

" Marster’s gone blind. Miss Gaily say.” 

"Well; but his sister will read the letter to him.” 

" J knows Miss Stella, wasdhe significant reply. 

" What must I do, then, after I have heard your story ? ” 

" Lock it up in your own heart till you can tell it to Mars’ 
Boger face to face.” 

" But suppose I never see him.” 

"'But you will see him ; you will. De good Lord ain’ goin’ 
to let de innocents suffer forever. This nigger knows- you’ll 
see him.” Aunt Dinah spoke as one having authority, albeit 
her logic was rather muddy. 

Esther reflected for a moment. If the old woman’s asser- 
tion was correct, a foul wrong was being done both Boger 
Etheridge and the rightful heir to the Oaks. She would 
hear the story first, and then make what use of it her judg- 
ment dictated. If it wore an air of probability sufficient to 
warrant investigation, she would relate it to those who were 
most interested in it, should the opportunity ever offer. If, 
on the contrary, it bore about it the air of a malicious fabri- 
cation, invented to injure Mrs. Somers with her brother, she 
would let the story moulder into oblivion in her own breast. 
After all, it was hardly possible Mr. Etheridge would ever 
return to the Oaks ; and, if 'he did, in all probability Dinah 
would be alive to tell the story herself. 

So, as some good might come of listening to it, and the 
harm that could come was such a remote contingency, Esther 
finally gave her consent for the old woman to tell it 


154 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


But you are too weak to tell a long story this evening. 
Aunt Dinah. I will come back for it Sunday evening.’^ 

But you won’t come : you’ll do me like you done me 
before.” And the old woman clutched at Essie’s riding-habit 
in her eagerness. 

Indeed I will. I promise you solemnly to stop on my 
way home, day after to-morrow.” 

Swear ’fore God you’ll come.” 

Her profound earnestness struck Esther forcibly. Would 
she be so eagerly anxious for this thing to go back to the 
master of the Oaks if the truth were not in it? Could her 
eyes beam with such fiery determination over a mere make- 
up? 

There is a rare earnestness about truth that falsehood can 
never counterfeit. It wields a potent influence, that even 
the most callous must bow before. Goethe calls it a torch, 
but a most terrific one ; ” and, waved aloft in the work- 
hardened hand of old Dinah the negress,' it may prove all- 
potent in illuminating the dark mystery that enveloped 
Koger Etheridge’s married life. 

When Esther Brandon remounted her horse, it was with 
the full conviction that what Dinah was going to tell her on 
the coming Sunday was to prove an important link in the 
chain of evidence for or against the unhappy lady in whose 
sad lot she had become so strangely entangled. 

But the Etheridges and their troubles were mere inter- 
esting abstractions so far, that were to be held in abeyance 
while she gave herself up to study for the rest of that day 
and the next. When she did cast a thought upon them, 
curiously enough Estella Somers always stood out darkly 
as the beautiful, soulless schemer who had brought all this 
trouble about. 


CHAPTER XXn. 


AUNT Dinah’s story. 

You mus’ know den^ chile, to begin at the startin’-pint, 
that the lady marster married had hen married oncet before. 
She were a widder, an’ a mighty party one she were. She had 
a little chile wen Mars’ Roger married her, — a purty little 
thing it were too, hut mighty sickly like. Her big black eyes 
looked like a ghostsis, an’ her skin were like yaller beeswax. 
Well, Mars’ Roger fetch ’em both down here; an’ no own 
daddy could ’a’ ben kinder’n he were to dat little one. Three 
happier folks ’twould ’a’ ben hard to find then them three, — 
Mars’ Roger, mistris, an’ her little gal. ’Reared like them 
above couldn’ sen’ ’em too much happiness like ; for, after 
a while, yere come along anodder little gal, jes’ the very cut 
of her mammy. Marster he growled a little ’cause ’twarn’t 
a boy ; but he soon got mightily wropped up in the little gal, 
an’ ’t ’peared like they was all happier’n ever. I was choose 
fur the little gal’s nuss. So I seed every thin’ that were goin’ 
on. 

^^One day, mistris had one ov her bad headaches (she 
were mighty subjec’ to ’em, honey) ; and I were sittin’ thar, 
rocking the baby might’ sof’ like to keep the cheer from 
creakin’, an’ marster was a-rubbin’ ov her head wid kelone 
mighty lovin’ like, wen dey brought him his letters. ^ Yere’s 
one fur you, darlin’,’ he say, mighty tender like (he always 
talk to her jes’ like she were a little chile) : upon which she 
ris up feeble like, fur de misery in her head ’peared powerful 
bad, an’ she look at the back of it, an’ handid it back, sayin’, 
^You read it to me, dearest.’ He alwavs called her darlin’, 

155 


156 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


an’ slie always called him deares’, jes’ like a pair of tnrkle- 
doves.” 

^ Go on, please.” Essie was a little impatient ; for all this 
part she had heard from Miss Gaily. 

“ Well, chile, not till we all stan’ before de throne ov de 
Lam’, wen de secret hearts of man shill he made known, 
will you an’ me know wat were in that letter. But it 
brought all the trouble upon poor Mars’ Boger an’ his sweet, 
purty wife. 

’Cause wen he done readin’ it, he jes’ got up like a big 
thunder-cloud, an’ look at mistris sort ov savage, an’ dinged 
de letter at her, an’ stalked out ov de room. 

Backards and forards did this nigger trot from de libray 
to her bed-room, from her bed-room to de libray, wid little 
scraps of paper wid somethin’ writ on ’em ; but nary one 
would he tech. 

Then jes’ about bedtime, wen her little one were snug 
an’ soun’ ’sleep, and the poor pale-faced creetur were sittin’ 
thar sobbin’, and rockin’ the baby, — which were a baby at the 
bres’ then, honey, — in he corned ; and, walkin’ up to mistris, 
he looked down mighty grum-like on her an’ de baby,- sayin’ 
sort savage like, ‘ Make de mos’ of her ’ (meanin’ de baby, 
you see) ; ^ fur, wen she’s six years ole. I’ll take her away 
from yom As fur you ’ — 

“ But she never let him get no more out ; for, wid a 
wild sort o’ scream, she fell in a heap on de floor at his feet, 
holdin’ up her baby, like she wanted it to beg for her. 

Wid that he turned on his heel an’ went back to de 
library, whar he locked hisself in. 

I worrited with her all by myself, ’cause you see, 
honey, I didn’ want every jawin’ nigger to be pokin’ 
roun’ the poor thing ; an’ presently I fetch her to. 

^ Dinah,’ she say to me, lookin’ so pitiful like, ‘ will 
you go wid me ? ’ 

^ Whar to, mistris ? ’ says I to her. 

“ ^ Never mind wliere to. Will you go with me to-night, 
and help me with the little ones ? ’ 

Honey, ef de angels wid de flamin’ swords had ’er tole 
me to say ^ No,’ I’d ’er had to say ^ Yes : ’ so say it I did. 

An’ that night we stole away like we was run-away 
nigprs; my ole man, who were de carriage-driver den, 
takin’ us way down de river to a landin’, an’ leavin’ us 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


157 


tliar at the man-house, wile he driv’ back like mad. Marster 
could ’a’ caught us mighty easy ef he hadn’t kep’ hisself 
shut up in that libray for all the res’ of the day, an’ 
wouldn’ ax no questions, only ringin’ for a cup of coftee 
wen he were mos’ starved out like ; ’cause ’twere late the 
nex’ mornin’ ’fore a little ole stern-weel boat corned along 
an’ took us aboard. 

‘^Well, chile, mistris she made right for Miss Stella’s 
home, thinkin’, I reckon, as how she might holp her with 
Mars’ Eoger, ’cause Miss Stella always could do more wid 
him than anybody goin’, by reason that marster thought 
a sight of her, for one thing ; an’ then she had a mon- 
strous commandin’ way wid her. 

^^Well, ’twere early one drizzly sort of mornin’, wen’t 
looked like them above was rainin’ sorrowful tears for the 
poor forlorn creetur, that we reached Miss Stella’s ; an’ 
mighty ’stonished were she to see us, honey. 

“ Mistris didn’ more’n wait to git her bonnit off ’fore 
she bust out weepin’ an’ wailin’, an’ tellin’ her tale to Miss 
Stella, not mindin’ me bein’ thar, ’cause white folks don’ 
seem to think niggers is got any sense, or ears nuther. 

I couldn’ quite make head nor tail ov it : but ’twere 
plain that somethin’ in that letter were a lie ; an’, as marster 
wouldn’ listen to her, she begged Miss Stella on her knees 
to make de peace between ’em. I remember her words like 
it was yesterday. She say, — 

^ Go to him, O Estella ! if you have a woman’s heart 
in your breast, and implore him only to hear me. Tell him 
I am not the guilty thing he thinks me.’ 

‘^Then Miss Stella she looked down on her mighty 
hard an’ cold like, an’ say to her, — 

^ I shall certainly not interfere in the matter. My 
brother is the best judge of his own private affairs. From 
your own confession, you have given him just and good cause 
for putting you away.’ 

Then mistris she got up, looked cold an’ white like a 
walkin’ corpse, an’ stood before her, sayin’, — 

^ For his child’s sake, I implore you once more to inter- 
cede with him.’ 

^ For no one’s sake,’ Miss Stella said in her mos’ com- 
mandin’ way. 

‘^Then mistris turned to me: ^Come, Dinah, my one 


158 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


friend, let us go.’ An’ she almost flew like to get away 
from that house. Jes’ as we got to de fron’-door, she turned 
to me sudden like : ^ I’ve dropped my purse in that room : 
go back for it.’ An’ back I wen’ for it. The carpets was 
so soft like, that I reckon Miss Stella never heard me cornin’ 
hack ; for, jes’ as I stooped to pick de purse up, she laughed 
a sorter scornful laugh, an’ say out loud, ^ For her child’s 
sake, indeed ! For my child’s sake. I’ll hold my tongue ! ’ 

“ I slipped back wid the purse ; but, tho’ them words kep’ 
ringin’ in my ears day an’ night, it took a long time for 
me, a nigger, to piece things togedder, ’cause you know, 
chile, black folks ain’ overly piert at studyiii’ of things out. 
But wat could it mean, ’cept wat it’s come to mean sence ? — 
Mars’ Frederic ready to heir every thing that belonged to 
the little gal. 

“Well, after leavin’ Miss Stella’s, we travelled a good 
long while, — fust in boats, then in steam-kyars, which, wid 
ther whizzin’ and spinnin’, come mighty near turnin’ this 
nigger’s head, until we reached a little town whar’t seemed 
like mistris had a frien’ ; for she wen’ straight to a 
house whar a ole lady lived all by herself, an’ thar was 
a deal of cryin’ an’ huggin’ an’ kissin’ betwixt ’em. An’ 
the ole lady say, ‘ Chile, dis is yo’ home as long as I lives.’ 

“ Then every thing settled down sort ov calm like ; an’ 
we lived wid the ole lady for nigh on to six months, wen a 
new trouble corned on poor mi&tris. But seemed as how 
she were so stunned like by the blow that had parted her 
an’ Mars’ Boger, that she couldn’ be hurt much more by 
nothin’. But one day her little chile — not the baby, but 
the one she had ’fore marster married her — took sick sorter 
sudden like ; an’ in less’n a week, missy, it were dead an’ 
buried. Mistris didn’ carry on nothin’ like I ’lowed she 
would. She cried, ov course ; but, wen she took her las’ 
look into de little coffln, she say mighty quiet like, ^Better 
so, poor little one ! — better so.’ 

“ Then we settled down agin ; an’ nothin’ more didn’ 
happen till the baby that was lef’ turned five ; wen all of a 
sudden, one day, mistris started up sort of wile like, say in’ 
to the ole lady, ‘ She’ll soon be six ! she’ll soon be six ! It 
will kill me if he takes , my baby from me. The time is 
coming ; it is coming ! ’ 

“ Then the ole lady say soothin’ like, ^ Foolish chile ! he 
don’t even know where you are.’ 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


159 


^ Yes, lie does ; yes, lie does. I wrote to Estella, who 
went to live with him when my poor little one died, hoping 
that, now she was gone, he might turn merciful; and 
I told her where to write to me. But he wouldn’t be 
merciful. He’s waiting for her sixth birthday to rob me 
of her.’ 

^‘We tried to quiet her down; hut seemed like she got 
franticker an’ franticker. She’d walk the floor day an’ night. 
Then all of a sudden, one day, ’peared like she made up 
her mind to somethin’ desperate ; for I packed up oncet 
more by her orders : an’ her an’ the ole lady hugged an’ 
kissed, an’ cried over each other agin ; an’ away we started. 
We travelled one day am’ a night ; an’ then we come to a 
.town, which weren’t no great shakes, ’cept fur a great big 
handsome house whar they kept a school for gals. Straight 
to this house mistris went; and, wen she’d tole the lady of 
the house howdy do, she went wid her into a room by her- 
self, an’ staid a long time. 

“Wen they come back, the old lady, wat was a fat ole 
lady wid a kin’d-hearted look about her, was a-blowin’ her 
nose very hard on a ’hroidered hankerchif; an’ mistris 
looked like she’d ben buried an’ dug up. Cornin’ straight 
up to me, she took the little one by the hand, and, leadin’ 
her up to the fat ole lady with the ’hroidered hankercbief, 
she put de little one’s hand in the ole lady’s, and say in a 
trembly voice, ^Mother’s darling is going to stay wdth this 
good lady for a little while.’ Wid that she seized me by the 
arm, and say in a choked voice, ‘ Come, Dinah ! ’ an’, ’fore 
I well knowed wat it all meant, she was almost runnin’ 
down the brick walk, boldin’ tight on to my arm, Avhile be- 
hind us come the pitiful wailin’ ov the poor little lamb 
seemed like we was desertin’. ^ She’ll be good to her, she’ll 
be good to her,’ mistress kep’ sayin’, sort of fierce like ; 
‘ an’ now let him find her, find her, if he can.’ 

“ ’Twarn’t often I ventured to question her ; for you know, 
chile, black folks can’t make free wid thar tongues like 
white folks : but this time I did make bold to say, ‘ Mistris, 
wat you goin’ to do now ? ’ 

“ ‘ I’m goin’ to find him ! ’ she say sort resolute like. 
Po’ chile ! she didn’t know how soon her summons was to 
come. Fust she wen’ back to the ole lady, and borried some 
money from her ; an’ then she started for to come back here 


160 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


to tlie plantation. But, wen we wasn’t more’n half way home, 
I suppose she broke down under her misery : for one mornin’ 
she couldn’t get up for weakness ; an’ she called me to her 
bedside, and say, ^ Dinah, maybe I’ll never reach home : I 
feel as if I never should. I am going to write a letter, a 
long letter, to your master. Swear to me that you will put 
it into his hands yourself. Swear that you will not give it 
to Estella Somers. Swear it, and I will die easier.’ 

^ How I goin’ to give it to marster, mistris ? how I goin’ 
to find him ? ’ 

“ ‘ Go hack to the plantation, and wait. If he is not there 
now, he will come baok. Wait, and be faithful. Swear it 
to me, I say. Swear that jmu will give it to my husband, 
and that you will not give it to my sister-in-law.’ 

I swored ’fore God that I would do jes’ as she tole me ; 
an’ then she turned her mind to the letter. For three mor- 
tal days did she write, off an’ on, on that letter, restin’ 
from weakness, an’ seemin’ to die off like, widout hardly 
breathin’ for twenty minutes or so. 

W en the letter was done written, she put it in a little 
wallet whar she kept her money, and say, ‘ If I die before I 
reach him, take this, and get home with it as best you can. 
Guard the letter with your life j for my baby’s fate de- 
pends on it. 

After that, by fits and starts we travelled on toward 
home ; but, honey, her heart were jist broken, an’ she couldn’ 
hole out no longer. She died in my arms, lookin’ up in my 
face wid wild eyes as she said with her last breath, ^ The 
letter, Dinah : guard it with your life ; give it to him, — 
never to her ! ’ Then the death-rattle gurgled in her poor 
throat, an’ my sweet mistris was dead. 

“ I took the wallit an’ the letter ; an’ I found my way . 
home, chile, as bes’ I could. Wen I got back to the ole 
house, lonesome and strange like every thing looked. My 
ole man was the only soul, ’cept our ole gray cat, that looked 
homelike to me. Marster was gone ; Miss Estella had fol- 
lowed him ; an’ Miss Cally was mistris. 

I went straight to the house wen I got here, an’ started 
to tell my story to Miss Cally, thinkin’ as how she might 
help me about lettin’ marster know the straight of things. 
But, wen I got to the part of it whar mistris’s little gal died, 
she stopped me : — 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


161 


^ You’re mistaken, ole woman ’ (you see, Miss Cally an’ 
me hadn’t never seen one anudder before) : ‘ it was the 
youngest child that died, — my cousin’s own daughter.’ 

‘ No, mistris,’ I say : ^ ’twere the other little one.’ 

^^Then she seemed to get riled like ’cause I contradict 
her so pat; and she say, ^ Mrs. Etheridge wrote to Mrs.' 
Somers when the child died, and told her that it was her 
youngest; and my cousin left immediately to break the 
news to the child’s father.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Who tole you all that, mistris ? ’ axed I. 

‘ Mrs Somers herself, before she left,’ says she. 

^^Well, honey, I seed jus’ how it was: so whar was the 
use of my tollin’ anything more? What chance did me, a 
poor nigger, stan’ of makin’ my word good in place of Miss 
Stella’s ? 

‘ Keep quiet, Dinah,’ says I to myself : ^ your only chance 
to help the baby is to wait for marster to come home.’ So I 
sewed the letter and the wallit up in my flannin petticoat ; 
an’ I come here to live wid my ole man, who’d ben made 
stock-minder while I was gone. Oncet or twice I made 
bold to try an’ talk to Miss Cally; an’ oncet I axed her ef 
marster’s daughter was a-travellin’ wid him ; for I ’lowed 
that, as it had ben so long, maybe he’d tracked her up of 
his own accord, and took her wid ’em : but Miss Cally jus’ 
looked at me hard, an’ say, ^ Dinah, your memory is failing 
you. Cousin’s daughter is dead. Estella says so.’ 

Now, missy, I darsn’ make so bold as to say the chile 
ain’t dead, for de Lord works in mos’ mysterious ways ; an’ 
it may ’a’ died before I got home; an’ the fat ole lady may ’a’ 
sent them word, though it puzzles my poor thick brain to 
know how she could ’a’ done that. But I want marster to git 
the letter ’fore he dies. An’ I’se ’fraid to give it to Miss 
Cally ; for she’s more’n apt to give it to Miss Stella, ’special- 
ly now that Mars’ Eoger’s blind. An’ I’se ’fraid to trust it to 
my ole man, ’cause he nothin’ but a poor blunderin’ block- 
head of a nigger, that can tend cattle fus’-rate, but ain’t got 
a idea above a cow. S-o, ef you will only take charge ov the 
package for me. I’ll make bold to give it over to you ; for I 
feel it in my insides, chile, that I ain’t long for this world.” 

Most reluctantly Esther Brandon consented to receive into 
her keeping the leather wallet which old Dinah ripped out 
of the tattered red flannel skirt she had on. 

11 


162 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


But when, in less than two weeks, she heard that old 
Dinah had died suddenly in one of her fits, she could not 
avoid a superstitious feeling that the hand of Fate was 
in it. 

The more she pondered over it, the more inexplicable did it 
seem to her, that she, a perfect stranger and an alien, should 
have been selected for this mission. Passive wonder was 
the only sensation she experienced, unless it may have been 
some sympathy with the little deserted daughter of Eoger 
Etheridge. 

For she knew of another child who had been left forlorn- 
ly alone in the world ; but that child was wise, and knew 
its own father, — alas for the knowledge ! 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


ESTELLA SOMERS RUMINATES. 

Leave Paris, — dear, delightful Paris, where life was one 
prolonged holiday, one long, glad jubilee! Was ever poor, 
weak human flesh called upon before to make such mon- 
strous sacrifice? 

And beautiful Estella Somers heaved a regretful sigh as 
she glanced around the luxurious apartments that had come 
to feel so homelike. 

Erederic had gone driving with his uncle ; Mrs. Somers 
having declared rather fretfully, that, if she had to pack up, 
their room would be more acceptable than their company. 

So, with the proverbial me^ness of the male sex under 
like circumstances, they had wisely promised that the pretty 
apartments should know them no more until night. 

So Estella had the day and the suite of rooms all to her- 
self ; but, instead of making the best of her opportunities, 
she sank idly down upon a soft shell-shape brocatelle arm- 
chair, a great heap of rich cashmere, dainty lace, handsome 
womanhood, and mental perplexity. 

One long, slender white hand supported her handsome 
head, whose dark crown of glory was just beginning to be 
threaded with silver. Her large gray eyes, bright and splen- 
did, but with a chill sort of splendor, were fastened in gloomy 
meditation upon the tapestry carpet, whose gay colors 
and graceful tracery appealed to an unappreciative eye this 
morning. For Estella Somers was only bodily present : her 
soul and brain had gone travelling into the gray regions of \ 
the past. 


164 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


The astonishing and suddenly-conceived desire of her 
brother to return to his estates in Louisiana liad startled 
her, and set her to ruminating. 

She had gof to feel quite at home in Paris. Her life 
there suited her: she could be gay or quiet, just as she 
chose. She had formed a delightful little coterie of .her own, 
over whom she queened it right regally ; for she was a horn 
leader, this handsome Widow Somers, with her stately beau- 
ty and haughty manners, aided by the potent charm of un- 
limited wealth. So her subjects were loyal and true. 

More than one among those subjects would gladly have 
aspired to consort with her queenship ; but with a gentle, 
though, I trow, not over-sincere sigh, the stately widow 
would declare that all of her heart that was not buried 
in the grave of her husband was divided between her darling 
boy and precious brother. 

Perhaps ! But no cumbersome weight would it have proven 
to any one ; though I do think that all the loving capacity 
of her soul centred on her handsome son Frederic. 

It is only the idea that one ceuld not marry, if one would, 
that constitutes the sting of celibacy. So, as Mrs. Somers 
knew she could, if she would, she did not cast one thought 
in the direction matrimonial. She had been a coldly ambi- 
tious woman, never a loving one; and all of her ambitions 
had been gratified. 

Her boy had grown up handsome and engaging enough 
to satisfy the most doting mother’s heart. His education 
was completed up to the last notch of his educational capaci- 
ty. Travel had polished him to a certain degree (it could 
not polish all the Somers out of him) ; and now he was heir- 
apparent to all that her brother would leave, with a princely 
allowance in the mean time. So what more could she ask? 
She asked notlnng more: she only desired that things 
should go on just as they were ; when here, all of a sudden, 
Eoger turns restive, and wants to go back to America. It 
had been her policy, when the idea had first been broached, 
to seem quietly acquiescent ; for Eoger’s troubles had soured 
his once equable disposition, so that violent opposition inva- 
riably provoked him to obstinate determination : but she had 
fully intended to undermine this sudden resolve of his by a 
skilful and gradual introduction of obstacle after obstacle. 

She could have succeeded with her brother, whose blind- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


165 


ness, and consequent dependence upon her, had brought him 
very much under Her influence ; but here, all of a sudden, 
Frederic goes and falls so violently in love with that pretty 
Mira Walworth, that, after her return to America, he became 
wildly eager to follow in her wake. The mother’s anxious 
heart was torn and perplexed. Now that he missed the soci- 
ety of the young girl he so dearly loved, he was seeking all 
manner of dangerous distractions : the tainted Somers blood 
might soon lead him into debauchery. Paris was a dangerous 
place for a young man in Fred’s then frame of mind. What 
might he not lose by staying ? for her brother had once de- 
clared fiercely, — when the young man had come so near his 
chair that his wine-heated breath touched his cheek, betray- 
ing his condition to his blind uncle through the medium of 
his olfactories, — that, before he would leave his property to a 
drunkard, he would dispose of it in public charities. For 
Poger Etheridge remembered bitterly how his debauched 
brother-in-law had made way with old family heirlooms to 
satisfy his mad thirst, and vowed that his own share of his 
father’s hoard should not meet a like fate. 

So what might Frederic not lose by staying in Paris ? 
And what might he not lose by returning to Louisiana ? 
What danger lurked in the peaceful shadows of the Oaks, 
that Estella Somers should shiver, and clasp her white and 
jewelled hand nervously together? 

What danger can there be ? ” she half murmured. ^^SJie 
is dead, — dead beyond the shadow of a doubt. Gaily wrote 
that old Dinah had come home, and that she said her 
mistress was dead ; but that, as other of her statements were 
false, probably this was. Dinah would never have left her 
unless she were dead: where, then, lies any danger? Old 
Dinah ? Pshaw ! could the half-crazed statements of an old 
negress in her dotage harm me or mine ? Nor is it likely 
that the old woman herself is alive at this late day. Tliere 
is no danger in returning to the Oaks. No danger? Then 
why do I so loathe the idea? Was it my fault that Koger 
put her from him ? Did he not pursue the only course open 
to him as a gentleman ? Did she not confess that appear- 
ances were against her? and should not the wife of an Eth- 
eridge, like that of Csesar, be above reproach? Would he 
have listened to me in his wild fury if I had tried to in- 
tercede for her ? Of course not. Then why reproach myself 


166 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


for not trying ? I acted in the only way I could : I forbore 
blaming her, and let nature take her course. But I wish he 
had not chosen to return to the Oaks, — anywhere, anywhere, 
hut back to that dismal place, where her white face and 
pleading 6yes will haunt my every step ! 

Frederic, Frederic, my son ! for your dear sake have I 
burdened my soul with this heavy load ; and yet now, even 
now, on the very threshold of life, you, are ready to turn 
from the heart that has yearned over you with a love so 
exceeding all loves that it has sinned for you, and pour 
out the love I thirst for at this strange girl’s feet. Yes, 
hoy, sinned for you. Why try to cheat myself? It was 
only a sin of omission ; hut it was a sin. She is dead, 
and suffers no more ; hut her child ? Did not the old 
woman say it was left in good hands ? But its rights 
clash with Frederic’s interests. Would I do it over again ? 
I doubt it. Then why not undo it ? Too late, too late ! 
It is never too late to do good. It is. I do not even 
know where the child is. To undo things would be hut to 
make myself an object of contumely in Boger’s eyes, and 
would benefit no one. He might find his child. Hardly 
possible. His heart yearns so over his blighted life ! Did 
I blight it ? But the love of a daughter would be balm to 
his wounded soul. And Frederic give up the Oaks? 
Why not at least clear his wife’s memory’' in his eyes ? 
Because he is quixotic enough to hunt up her child, whom 
he believes to be the survivor. And should he find her — 
what then ? Disgrace, ruin, and desolation. What would 
Frederic do should he ever discover this fraud ? If he were 
a woman, he would forgive the deed for the sake of the 
love that prompted it. As he is a man, he would harden 
his heart against me, and, in his pride of manhood, scorn, 
but not pity, my guilty weakness. Could I survive the con- 
tempt of my boy ? — my boy, who bows to me now as the 
impersonation of womanly dignity and virtue. Never, 
never, never ! Come death, welcome death, before my boy’s 
dear eyes ever turn upon me with contempt in their honest 
depths ! ” 

Thus the powers of good and evil did battle within 
Estella Somers’s torn and guilty breast. 

Fifteen years ago, for the sake of her son, she had com- 
mitted a fraud upon her helpless brother by giving him to 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


167 


understand that his own child was dead, hut that his step- 
daughter, the unhappy cause of all his woe, still lived. For 
fifteen years, now, she had quietly enjoyed the fruits of that 
fraud. There was but one soul living who could bring the 
truth to light. That one soul was old Dinah. The danger 
in that quarter was so slight and so remote as hardly to 
deserve the name. Why, then, all this disquietude at the 
idea of returning to the Oaks to live ? Was it that the 
hydra Kemorse, slain, but not cauterized, had sprung into 
fresh existence to sting her guilty soul anew ? 

Perhaps. 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 


AN ALARM AND A SURPRISE. 

The softly seductive evenings, when Miss Cally’s author- 
ity had to be asserted before Essie could be made to desert 
the terrace for the alcove, had gone by for a season ; and the 
regular re-unions of the two ladies, who had become fast and 
firm friends with true feminine rapidity, were held in the 
library, where a bright wood-fire, rendered necessary by fall 
dampness, took the place of the ghostly moonlight, casting 
flitting shadows and fantastic shapes through the length 
and breadth of the stately old library. 

Thither the liarp had been removed ; and, from a small 
music-stand that stood by the locked piano, Esther had 
exhumed the music-books belonging to the dead owner of 
all these feminine belongings : so it was her old favorites, 
played upon her harp, that this young stranger sent out in 
such rich volumes of sound upon the air that she made 
vocal in the olden time. 

It was Esther’s first visit to the Oaks after old Dinah’s 
death; and she had in the capacious pocket of her riding- 
habit the package delivered to her by the old woman dur- 
ing their last interview. 

Essie had brought it with her, determined to find out, 
by a cross-examination of Miss Gaily, if the ends of justice 
would not be as fully accomplished by that lady’s having 
possession of the letter and wallet as by her own retention 
of them. 

She had purposely forborne speaking on the subject until- 
she had gone through with her own weekly reading, and 
168 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


169 


until Miss Cally’s household interruptions were over for the 
day. 

So it was just about the gloaming when they two 
settled themselves in their usual positions near the libra- 
ry fire-place ; Miss Gaily curled up in a great morocco 
easy-chair, that entirely hid her from every point of 
observation save immediately in front of her; Essie, her 
profile turned toward the entrance-door, seated by the 
harp, a music-stand in front of her, upon which slie 
had placed the music with she was going to regale Miss 
Gaily presently. But not yet. She wanted to talk a 
while first, — talk about the Etheridge trouble and old 
Dinah, and, if possible, contrive some way of foisting her 
troublesome burden upon more willing and appropriate 
shoulders than her own. She felt something very much 
like resentment, certainly annoyance, at being mixed up, 
in spite of herself, with tins Oaks trouble. Had she not 
enough worries of her own to think about, without having 
to devise ways and means for conveying this letter into 
this strange man’s hands? Moreover, she should not be 
in the neighborhood very much longer : and she would have 
to leave the package with Miss Gaily eventually ; why not 
at once ? 

She was meditating how to find out, cautiously, whether 
or not Miss Gaily shared with old Dinah any suspicions of 
Mrs. Somers, when Miss Gaily led up to the subject on her 
mind in the most unexpected fashion. 

“Well, child, now that we’ve settled for our talk, I can 
venture to tell 3mu my great piece of news. I wouldn’t tell 
you when you first got here, for fear you’d be silly enough 
to be upset by it. And ‘ sufficient unto the hour is the evil 
thereof : ’ that’s m}'' philosophy.” 

“And what piece of news can you have received that 
would affect me ? ” asked Miss Brandon, suspending the 
tuning of the harp. 

“Why, nothing more nor less than a letter from Estella, 
sdying that Gousin Boger has suddenly conceived the de- 
termination to return here to live, and that I may look for 
them any time from this out.” 

Esther started violently. 

“ There, now, you foolish child ! I knew you were going 
to let it disturb you ; and it’s only the fear that this home- 


170 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


coming may make some difference in our pleasant relations 
that keeps me from being genuinely glad.” 

“1 was not thinking of myself, Miss Gaily,” replied the 
young girl truthfully, but absently. 

She was thinking what a pity old Dinah could not have 
lived a little while longer, and have saved her all this 
anxious thought. 

‘‘What, then, dear? Don’t be afraid to speak out. It’s 
very evident to me that you have had something on 3 mur 
mind this whole day. I wish, child, you’d try and break 
yourself of that trick of brooding over every new idea that 
presents itself to you. Thinking is all very well in its wa^^ ; 
but ‘enough’s as good as a feast:’ that’s my philosophy. 

“ What’s the use of my trying to be your friend,” went 
on the energetic little woman with her usual crisp utter- 
ance, and rapidity of articulation, “ unless jmu will consent 
to make me a receptacle? I don’t like to see a young 
girl so self-sustained : it isn’t wholesome. I’d much rather 
you should talk more, and think less. Somebody — and 
who he was I can’t for the life of me just now recall ; only I 
know he was smart enough to express mj’- own opinions 
better than I could do it myself — calls ‘reflection a flower 
of the mind, giving out wholesome fragrance; but says that 
revery is the same flower when rank, and running to seed.’ 
And, child, you’re cultivating that rank weed ; and I don’t 
like to see it.” 

Here Essie did as she invariably did when Miss Gaily ’s 
remarks took a personal turn. She quietly introduced a 
fresh subject, and pursued it with a pertinacity that never 
failed to remind the little woman that she was treading on 
forbidden grounds. 

“What a pity old Aunt Dinah could not have lived until 
Mr. Etheridge’s return!” 

“Why, child?” 

“ She seemed very anxious to see him once more.” 

“Poor old dazed thing! I don’t think she knew very 
clearly what she did want.” 

“ Do you really think she was imbecile. Miss Gaily ? ” 

“Ho doubt of it in the world, child. She was very old. 
She was quite old when she went away from here with 
Gousin Roger’s wife: and I suppose she was pretty well 
whirled about by her; for there’s no doubt about it that 


AGAINST TIIK WORLD. 


171 


she wasn’t quite right in her mind when she first came 
home.” 

“What did you judge from?” asked Esther eagerly. 

“ Why, the ridiculous mixture she made when she tried 
to tell about her mistress.” 

“ If my curiosity does not seem impertinent, Miss Gaily, 
will j’-ou tell me what she did say when she came home ? ” 

“Well, it wasn’t so much what she said as the way she 
acted. You know, of course, she’d never even heard of my 
existence before she came back and found me here. I re- 
member the river was at its highest ; so she landed only a 
short way below here, and walked up to the house. I was 
fixing some mangoes for pickles when she got here ; and 
she seemed to resent my looking and feeling so much at 
home. You know the old family servants down here do get 
outrageously spoiled sometimes : so I wasn’t much surprised 
when she looked at me sourly, and said ^ Good-morning, 
ma’am ! May a ole family servan’ make so bol’ as to ax who 
you mout be ? ’ 

“ M am Miss Gaily Henderson, temj^orary mistress of this 
place. And who are you ? ’ 

“‘What sort ov mistris, ma}'' I make so bold as to ax?’ 
And I assure you, Miss Essie, that never before nor since 
have I had to face such scornful glances. 

“‘Enough of a mistress,’ I answered very tartly, ‘to 
have you put off the place if you don’t tell me very quickly 
who you are, and what you want.’ 

“ ‘ I want Mars’ Koger.’ 

“ ‘ He is in Europe.’ 

“ ‘ Whar’s Europe ? ’ 

“ ‘ It is where you are never likely to he.’ 

“ ‘ I want Miss Stella, don.’ 

“ ‘ Miss Stella is witli Mars’ Roger.’ 

“ ‘ All gone ! All my white folks gone ! Her dead, and 
him gone, — worse’n dead ! ’ • ■ 

“And her withered old black face was so fulEof pathetic 
sorrow, that I grew sorry for her, and spoke more kindly 
than I had yet done. 

“ ‘ Who is dead, aunty ? And who are you, that you 
want to see my cousins so much ? 

“ ‘Yoi^’ cousins?’ she echoed. 

“ ‘ Yes, my cousins.’ 


172 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


‘ Den you ain’ mistris’ frien’. Poor, purty little mis- 
tris ! Dey done killed you, ’tween ’em all ! ’ 

“Tlien it dashed on me who she was. It was the nurse 
that cousin’s wife had taken with her. 

And she brought with her the drst news we had heard 
since her dight. 

“ ‘ Is my cousin’s wife dead ? ’ I asked eagerly. 

It was evident the old woman had conceived a sudden 
and violent prejudice to me for several reasons : one was, 
that she looked on me as a usurper; the other was, that, 
being the cousin of the husband, I suppose she thought I 
must necessarily be the enemy of the wife. Of course she 
did not put any of all this into words ; but it was apparent 
enough in the sullenness of her answers. 

“ ^ Yes’m : she’s dead. Only wonder she didn’ die long 
afore this, po’ shorned lam ’ ! ’ 

“ ‘ Tell me all about it, aunty.’ 

AVill you write Mars’ Poger de straight ov things fur 
me, mistris ? ’ and she brightened up considerably. 

“ ‘ I will write it to Miss Stella,’ I told her. 

“ ^ Miss Stella ! What for not Mars’ Poger ? ’ 

‘‘ ^Because he has gone blind, and Miss Stella has to read 
every thing for him.’ 

“At this she seemed strangely shocked and agitated. 

“ ‘ Mars’ Poger gone blind ! All the light gone out ov 
them big, handsome eyes of his’n ! Couldn’ read 7iohothfs 
letter for himself! Can’t he see a speck, jes’ a little speck, 
mistris ? ’ 

“‘He is entirely blind; but that need not affect your 
story,’ I said to her. 

“ ‘ I wish he’d come back! — come back whar he belongs.’ 

“I was getting tired of her: so I told her briskly, if 
she had any thing to tell me that she wanted me to write 
to her master, I wished she would do it promptly, as I had 
something to attend to. 

“ Her next words convinced me that she was not quite in 
her right mind. 

“ ‘ Which ov ’em does you side wid, — mistris, or mas- 
ter ? ’ 

“ ‘ I side with my cousin, of course. I feel sorry for them 
both, though.’ 

“ ‘ Does you like Miss Stella too ? ’ 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


173 


^ Yes, I like her ; of course I like her/ For you know, 
my dear, I was not going to analyze my feelings for my own 
flesh and blood for the benefit of a negress. I don’t love 
Estella to distraction ; ^ but blood’s thicker than water : ’ 
that’s my philosophy. So I just said, ^Of course I like 
her.’ 

^ Then I donH give it to yoii^ she said with grim deter- 
mination, as if I’d been trying to take something from her 
by force. 

“ ^ Don’t give what to me ? ’ I asked in astonishment. 

“‘Never min’: dat’s for me to know, an’ fo’ you t’ fin’ 
out.’ 

“ Then 1 got peppery again. ‘ If you have any message 
to send to your master, give it to me, or keep it to yourself, 
just as you think best ; but I’m getting very tired of you.’ 
Then at last she told all she had to tell. She told me when 
and how her mistress had died, and when and how the 
little child had died : and when she said that it was the old- 
est girl that was dead, and the Etheridge child at a school 
somewhere up North, I knew she was crazy ; for Estella 
had told me that cousin’s daughter was dead, and the oldest 
girl at school with relatives of her mother.” 

“But,” broke in Esther anxiously, “might Mrs. Somers 
not have been mistaken?” 

“ Hardly, my dear. Cousin’s daughter was only five 
5 ^ears old at that time. Is it likely such a baby would have 
been put at a boarding-school ? ” 

Esther saw, as plainly as old Dinah had seen before her, 
that Miss Cally’s mind was fully made up on the subject, 
and whatever revelations should be made to her would go 
straight to Mrs. Somers. “I will think on it a while longer 
before I conclude to give her the package. I wonder how 
long before they will be here.” 

Miss Cally seemed to answer her thoughts. 

“ Estella is so provokingly careless about dates ! There’s 
none at all of her writing in the letter ; and that on the 
post-mark is so badly stamped, that I can’t make it out. 
Not that it will incommode me in any way ; for the house 
and myself are like cold souse, — always ready. But a body 
does get the fidgets so when they’re looking long before- 
hand for any one.” 

“ I am selfishly sorry they are coming back. Miss Cally.” 


174 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Why, child ? ” 

Because there is an end now to my happ^^ two days at 
the close of every week ; an end to my delicious freedom in 
this dear old library ; an end to my stolen books and my 
opportunities for study.’’ 

‘‘Not at all, dear heart. If you only knew my cousin 
Eoger as I used to know liim, you would understand how 
glad he would be to have you continue the use of his books. 
I am going to tell him all about you, — tell him wliat you 
are studying for, aud how good and sweet and dear a girl 
you are; and I laiow he will not rest until he has made 3^11 
feel just as welcome to the old library and his books as you 
know you are at present.” 

“ Ignorant little woman ! You are drawing your conclu- 
sions from dead premises, describing the Boger Etheridge 
you knew for a little while in the long-ago, and have pre- 
served enshrined in your loyal heart, half unconsciousl3" to 
yourself, for twoscore 3'ears,” said Essie. 

“And Mrs. Somers?” she continued interrogatively. 

Miss Cally’s bright face clouded with perplexity. 

“Estella — well, dear — Stella — I hope she will be good 
and kind to you too.” 

“Dear Miss Gaily, don’t try and deceive 3murself. You 
know as well as I do that the days of my happy freedom 
in this refuge of quiet luxury are numbered.” 

“ Don’t get lugubrious, my dear ; please don’t get lugubri- 
ous. They’re not yet here ; and who knows that they won’t 
change their minds yet ? I want to see him — tliem, I 
mean; I sha’n’t deny it — right badly. But I can’t give 
you up, dear : we’ll fix it somehow. Now give me my song : 
we won’t think of the future just now. ‘Never go half wa3’- 
to meet trouble : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

“What will you have to-nigiit?” and Esther ran her 
long, slender fingers over the waiting harp-strings. 

‘“Farewell! but whenever 3^11 think of the hour,’” 
answered Miss Call}’’, curling herself into a more compact 
knot in the great leather chair, and shading her eyes from 
the firelight with one little bit of a hand. 

Then Esther, after a few preliminary chords, began that 
sweetest of old ballads in the sweetest of young voices. 

And, while she sang, a travelling-carriage rolled noise- 
lessl}" over the grass-grown carriage-drive ; halted in front 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


175 


of the first flight of steps of the terraces ; and from it issued 
Roger Etheridge, his sister, and her son. 

Give your uncle your arm, Frederic ; and let me precede 
you, and see if I can’t arouse some one in this dead-looking 
old house. Gaily could not have received my last letter, or 
she would have certainly given us a more cheerful wel- 
come.” Mrs. Somers tried to talk briskly and naturally as 
she led the way up the wet stone steps of the terraces, on 
by tlie gravel-walk, familiar even in the darkness, and after 
the lapse of many years. But all the while she felt as if 
she trod among tombstones, and shivered as if fearful of 
encountering some wandering spirits. Shaken by natural 
and uncontrollable agitation, the blind master of the Oaks 
leaned heavily on his nephew’s arm, and lagged slowly be- 
hind his sister’s rapidly-moving figure. 

So she stood upon the veranda before they had reached 
its steps ; and she turned the door-knob of the unlocked 
door (for a locked door was an undreamed-of necessity on a 
Southern plantation in those peaceful days) ; and, by the 
time her brother placed his foot upon the veranda-steps, she 
had reached the heavy oaken door of the library, guided 
thither by a stream of light that poured across its threshold 
through a liberal crack at the bottom, and by strange 
sounds for that house, — the sound of music. 

“ Is Gaily a musipian ? ” was her surprised thought as she 
turned the door-knob gently, proposing to give the lonely 
musician a fright. 

But the fright was hers, not the musician’s. There by 
the library-fire, at home as she was in the days gone by, 
with her own harp by her side, her own music before her, 
her own graceful, beautiful self, sat Roger’s wife, — Roger’s 
wife, or the ghost of her. 

Speechless from emotion and fright, Estella Somers stood 
motionless ; and, with the rapidity of lightning, the thought 
flashed through her brain, “ The story of her death was all 
a lie. Gaily has conspired with her against me. She has 
come back here to await his return. I am ruined ! I am 
ruined ! ” 

A nervous hand clutched her arm. It was Roger’s. 

Who is it that sings in this house ? It is her voice, her 
song ! ” His voice, tremulous and passion-laden, startled 
the fair harpist and Miss Gaily. 


176 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Springing to her feet with a nervous little squeak of sur- 
prise, Miss Gaily darted toward the door to meet her un- 
looked-for guests, dispelling with her first words Estella’s 
fright and Roger Etheridge’s delusion. 

Why, bless my soul, Miss Essie, here the dear creatures 
are now ! ^ Speak of the angels, you know,*' ” &c. 

Esther rose to her feet, fiushed from embarrassment, and 
wishing this arrival could have been postponed by twenty- 
four hours. 

Mrs. Somers bestowed but a hasty greeting on Miss Gaily. 
It was not that dead woman, then ! Of course it was not. 
What a crazed fancy that had been of hers ! Did ghosts 
wear black bombazine, with white ruches round the neck ? 
Did ghosts braid long silky hair in queenly coronets above 
their heads ? Why could she not have seen that this beau- 
tiful singer was a mere girl, — too young by years for 
Roger’s wife, too young by far ? Gould old Dinah have 
heard of their home-coming, and brought that child here 
to heard her on this first night ? Gould that he Roger 
Etheridge’s daughter sitting there in peaceful possession 
of her own home, playing upon her mother’s harp ? If 
Gaily would only speak, and mention the girl’s name ! 
Would she never have done fussing over Roger? Was the 
girl only waiting for some signal from her confederate to 
open and tell who she was? AVas Gaily just waiting until 
the bustle of arrival was over to declare the creature’s iden- 
tity ? AVas old Dinah watching and listening, ready to 
step forward at the right moment, and swear to the truth 
of it all ? 

Gonscience makes cowards of us all.” And, in the few 
seconds that Miss Gaily was hustling round to see them all 
comfortably seated, Estella Somers’s heated imagination had 
wrought out the whole drama in which Roger Etheridge’s 
daughter was to he righted at last, and herself brought to 
utter confusion. 

“ And now, dear people, let me introduce to you my 
sweet young friend. Miss Esther Brandon, a lady who comes 
here every little while, and relieves a lonely old woman by 
her bright presence and charming music. Gousins, I hope 
you will come to love her as dearly as I do.” 

Mrs. Somers heaved a sigh of infinite relief; and, placing 
an icy-cold hand cordially within Esther’s, she remarked, 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


177 


with an effusive warmth that was in direct ratio to tlie 
secret relief she experienced, that any friend of Miss 
Cally’s would always be welcome at the Oaks. 

Mr. Somers’s mental comment as he acknowledged the 
pleasure of Miss Brandon’s acquaintance was to the effect 
that it would have been dangerously easy to fall in love 
with her, if a fellow’s heart had not been pre-engaged. 

Silent and abstracted, E-oger Etheridge sat bowed in the 
old leather chair. 

It was not she : so it mattered not who it was. Eor one wild, 
glad moment, he had thought, when the old familiar sounds 
had floated out in greeting to him, that she had come back 
to him, — how nor why nor whence he did not ask ; he 
did not care to know. Maybe she had been waiting there 
for him all these long, weary years. But the wild, glad 
moment, with its wild, glad joy, sped by, and left him where 
it had found him, — a stricken and joyless man, remorseful 
for the past, hopeless for the future. 

Miss Gaily bustled out o^ the room to have beds pre- 
pared for the travellers, leaving Esther alone with the 
strangers. 

With the polished ease of a woman of the world, Estella 
entered into conversation with her. Every moment she was 
more and more impressed and frightened by the startling 
likeness to her brother’s wife in face, voice, and gesture. 
If this strange likeness was any thing more than accident, 
it was evident that neither Miss Gaily nor the girl herself 
was aware of it. They were too entirely at their ease to be 
acting a part. Suppose this should, by some wild chance, 
be Boger’s daughter ? If the girl did not know it (as ’twas 
evident she did not), who was there to enlighten her ? — 
who but old Dinah? Did she live yet? Estella Somers 
hoped not. Gonscience was making a murderess of her in 
heart. 

Miss Gaily came back presently, and Mrs. Somers turned 
from Esther to her cousin ; and Essie seized the opportunity 
to study her handsome face. She was a devout believer in 
physiognomy. She would try to decide if old Dinah had 
truthfully described this sister of her master’s, who had 
turned so ruthlessly away from her crushed and heart-sore 
sister-in-law. 

Tell me, Gaily, is old Dinah alive yet ? ” Mrs. Somers 
12 


178 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


asked the question as she would have inquired after any 
other of the old family servants. 

She died only two weeks ago,” was Miss Cally’s answer. 

Then Esther Brandon knew the strange flash of pleasure 
that gleamed in those cold gray eyes that Mrs. Somers had 
cause to be glad. And, if glad, why ? Old Dinah was 
right; and Essie was glad she had not given that package to 
Miss Gaily. 

Turning suddenly, Mrs. Somers encountered the young 
girl’s earnest gaze. She started and trembled. Could those 
eyes, so wonderfully like, belong to any other than her 
daughter ? It must be ! What foul chance had brought 
her here, only to torture, not to endanger ? for danger had 
died with old Dinah. 

And Estella Somers laid her head upon her pillow that 
night firmly convinced that Eoger Etheridge’s daughter 
was sleeping under the same roof. 


CHAPTER XXY. 


A CHAPTER OF ITEMS. 

Very early indeed did Esther rise the next morning, de- 
termined to order her horse, and leave the Oaks before' 
breakfast. 

Every thing had been changed by the coming of these 
intrusive strangers. She no longer felt at home as she had 
come to feel when Miss Gaily reigned supreme. And then 
she was curiously agitated by the observations she had made 
the previous evening. She wanted time to ponder over 
Mrs. Somers’s eager anxiety to know if old Dinah still lived; 
and the strange, eager look of satisfaction that had unde- 
niably come into her face on hearing of her death. She 
would weigh these bits of circumstantial evidence very 
carefully before deciding to sow the seeds of that baleful 
plant, distrust, within this little family-circle. She must 
ponder well whether a solemn obligation to carry out the 
behest of the old nurse would be sufficient excuse for 
breeding discord between the blind master of the Oaks 
and the sister upon whom his infirmity made him so de- 
pendent. There was too much at stake to admit of hasty 
action : so Essie resolved to give herself the widest possible 
margin of time in which to act. “I will watch and wait,” 
was her mental determination, “until I am ready to leave 
the neighborhood ; in which interval something 'may occur 
to assist me to a decision. I am afraid to act now.” Her 
mind being fully made up, she had no object in remaining 
at the Oaks any longer at present : so, having donned 
lier hat and habit, she made her way out to the front-door, 
intending to take flight at once for Locust Grove. 


179 


180 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


She knew she would find Preston, the stable-hoy, within 
call from the end of the veranda; and, hastily traversing its 
length, she glanced toward the carriage-house in search of 
his familiar face. 

To her confusion, the handsome face and graceful figure 
of Mr. Fred Somers met her gaze. He was leaning lazily 
over some bars, watching the grooming of three handsome 
horses that Essie presumed he had brought with him ; for 
she had never seen them before in the stable at the Oaks. 

The young man raised his hat in graceful salutation, — a 
salutation which Esther returned mechanically, and then 
turned to beat a retreat. How should she get black Bess 
was the mighty problem that now troubled her. 

In Miss Cally’s small menage, duties had been rather 
mixed. Preston swept and garnished the library and halls, 
as well as superintended the feeding of old knock-kneed 
Jinny and the flea-bitten white horse. Maybe, as he was 
not at the stables, he was in the library. From the veranda 
she passed through the open French window into the still 
dark apartment. She heard a rustling near the fireplace. 

“ Preston ! she called out softly. 

Who is that ? answered a strange voice, a low-toned, 
rich voice ; and Essie found herself again in presence of 
one of the returned travellers. She had advanced far 
enough into the room by this time to discover that its occu- 
pant was not Preston, but the master of the Oaks. 

“ Pardon my seeming intrusion, Mr. Etheridge ; I had no 
idea of finding tired travellers such early risers. I am look- 
ing for Preston, to ask him to saddle my horse for me.^^ 

Is it Miss Brandon, my cousin’s guest, then, that is cast- 
ing such a slur upon the hospitality of the Oaks as to 
think of leaving it before breakfasting ? ” 

^^I shall have plenty of time to reach my home for 
breakfast, sir.” 

You live near us, then ? ” 

^‘But six miles off, — at Mr. Golding’s. I am their 
teacher.” Esther stated her calling and position with in- 
cisive distinctness, as if she wanted these aristocrats to 
understand at once that it was only Mrs. Golding’s gov- 
erness to whom they were extending their hospitality. 

If I ask you to grant me a favor before leaving us this 
morning, young lady, you will not think me presumptu- 
ous ? ” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


181 


Ah, sir ! if you knew how greatly I am already your 
debtor, you would feel at liberty to ask almost any thing of 
me.’^ 

My debtor ! ” echoed Eoger Etheridge. 

Yes, sir. For nearly six months now I have been luxu- 
riating in your books, by Miss Cally’s permission ; and I 
do not know how I could have endured the monotony of 
existence without their aid. So now I would gladly give 
some testimonial of my gratitude to their owner.^’ 

Sing to me, then, the song you were singing last night. 
It came to me as a greeting from the spirit-land, welcom- 
ing me, a weary wanderer, home to my rest.’^ 

Without other answer than a gently-spoken ^^With 
pleasure,’’ Esther divested herself of her riding-gloves, 
and seated herself at the harp. 

Why was it that her whole soul seemed poured out in 
that song as she sang it to the blind man, who hung over 
her, drinking in the sweet sounds as the drought-parched 
earth drinks in the heaven-sent shower ? 

She did not know it herself ; but her song was a plea, — 
a plea for a dead wife, an exiled daughter, — a plea for 
her own lovely self. 

Thank you ! ” said the blind man at the close of her song. 
“ You have done me good. May I hope that you will con- 
tinue your regular visits here ? Maybe it is a selfish hope. 
But I do not think it will make you any the less willing to 
accede to my request when I tell you that it would give me 
something to look forward to. Your sweet voice is some- 
thing more than a pleasant melody to me. Will you come ? ” 

Say yes, my dear young lady ;• and rest assured that my 
most cordial welcome will be added to my dear brother’s.” 

It was Estella Somers’s smooth voice that spoke the 
words, as she stood before Essie in the softest and freshest 
of morning costumes redolent of eau-de-cologne and gmudre- 
de-riz. 

Such extreme cordiality from this haughty dame was 
totally unexpected by Esther. Had she misjudged the 
handsome widow by declaring that the lines of her face be- 
spoke coldness and harshness ? Had she not been foolisli 
enougli to allow old Dinah to bias her against the lady ? If 
she were not kind-hearted and lady-like, why should she be 
so sweetly cordial to her, a penniless stranger, whose very 


182 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


name she hardly knew? She raised her eyes from the 
harp to thank the new mistress of the Oaks in a becoming 
manner for her kind cordiality, when she found those steely 
gray eyes fastened upon her in such intense scrutiny, that, 
involuntarily, her own fell before them in embarrassment and 
confusion; while, stronger than ever, there came surging 
over her a feeling of repulsion toward this beautiful Mrs. 
Somers. 

It was a clear case of natural antipathy. And, after all, 
are our antipathies meaningless ? I think not. Are they 
not, rather, the equivalents of those instincts that are im- 
planted in the breasts of brutes a little lower than ourselves, 
whereby they are warned against all poisonous or deadly 
substances ? 

Esther did not stop to analyze the feeling that prompted 
her to substitute a cold and non-committal “Thank jmu, 
madam ! ’’ for the grateful acceptance she had first medi- 
tated. 

“ Not a very satisfactory answer, brother ; but I think we 
can prevail upon her to be sociable yet. Leave her in my 
hands.” And, with the airiest of smiles, Mrs. Somers 
beamed down upon the graceful figure at the harp. 

In the wee small hours of the night just fled, Estella 
Somers had concocted and matured her plan of action; 
and her smiling affability to Miss Brandon was but a por- 
tion of the role she had assigned herself. 

She had no reason to believe that the child which had been 
put at a boarding-school up North was not yet alive. The 
fact that this girl, who bore such a remarkable resemblance 
to her dead sister-in-law, was named Brandon, was no con- 
clusive evidence that she was not Boger Etheridge’s daugh- 
ter ; for in that letter which Mrs. Somers had received on 
the death of that other child occurred this well-remembered 
passage : — 

“ To you once more, Estella Somers, once more, and for the 
last time, I come as a suppliant. My child is dead. Tell him, 
not for my sake, but for the sake of our child, I implore him 
to hear me now. Tell him that I will be heard. I am not 
wholly powerless. I will wait more than a reasonable time 
for an answer to this. Then, if none comes, our child shall 
be put beyond his reach or knowledge with a tried friend 
of mine, and under a name of my own manufacture ; and 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


183 


then, alone, I will seek him, follow him to the end of the 
world if needs be, prostrate myself in his dear presence, 
and then bow me till I am once more restored to my right- 
ful place. He shall hear me. He shall not know in part, 
and then condemn. Once more, Estella, for the sake of our 
child, — his child and mine, — plead for me.’^ 

But Estella Somers had hardened her heart, and, instead 
of pleading, had lied; and Death, as merciless as she, 
had laid his icy-cold hand upon the poor lips that had 
vowed in their impotence to force the truth upon Boger 
Etheridge. So, for a long while, the spirit of justice and 
right slept the sleep of the sluggard, and the spirit of 
wrong ruled with insolent triumph. 

And, remembering all these things, Estella Somers was 
forced to believe that fate had maliciously thrown this 
girl into her way to be a thorn in her flesh, — only an an- 
noying thorn ; nothing more hurtful : for, now that the only 
soul who could have borne witness to the fraud she had 
practised upon her brother was dead, no power on earth 
could overthrow her and Frederic. But Mrs. Somers had 
made up her mind to perform a piece of poetical justice. 

She would find out from this pretty girl where she was 
educated. She would trace her up to her origin. If she 
proved to be nothing to her or Boger Etheridge, she might 
easily be dropped from their knowledge. If, on the con- 
trary, she should prove to be her niece, — why, she was 
quite handsome and elegant enough not to disgrace the 
family : so she would bring about a love-match between 
Mr. Frederic Somers, the. heir of the Oaks, and Miss 
Brandon, Cally’s obscure friend. For once, Mrs. Somers 
was counting without her host, unwisely leaving out of 
her plan of poetical justice Miss Mira Walworth. Mar- 
ried to Fred, this girl would be brought into enjoyment of 
the fortune that belonged to her, and herself be relieved of 
the sharp twinges of remorse that so seriously marred her 
enjoyment of the fortune that did not belong to her. 

Now you perceive why Mrs. Somers was so sweetly 
cordial to Miss Brandon that morning. But ignorant 
Miss Gaily coming in just then, and not knowing the 
why, but gladly aware of the sweet cordiality, could have 
shaken Essie well for her cold reply. 

She came in to announce breakfast: so Essie’s plan of 


184 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


flight was rendered of none avail by a combination of cir- 
cumstances. 

It hardly looked liked the same dining-room, or the same 
table, or the same Miss Cally, with whom she had tHe-a-‘ 
tHed so pleasantly, seated at their little round table, which 
was now stretched out for the accommodation of these 
elegant and haughty owners, whom Essie could not but look 
upon as intruders. 

If I could cordially indorse the theory of the transmi- 
gration of souls, I should say that the soul of Mr. Frederic 
Somers, once upon a time, animated the body of a handsome 
Newfoundland dog,’’ she thought, as she found herself face 
to face with handsome Fred Somers, and fell naturally into 
her favorite pastime of face-reading. ^^He looks exactly 
like it ; bravery, kind-heartedness, and laziness, I take it, 
being his most marked characteristics. I don’t fancy he 
is ever troubled by soul aspirations of any kind ; hut, on the 
other hand, it is impossible to conceive of him stooping to 
meanness or deceit. He has more nobility in his face than 
he ever inherited from his mother.” But face-reading was 
suddenly terminated by Miss Cally’s crisp voice. 

I don’t believe I’ve told you yet, cousins, that Belton 
has found a purchaser at last; have I?” And the little 
woman included everybody by a glance in her kinship. 

No ! Who ? ” asked Esther’s handsome vis-a-vis ani- 
matedly. 

Mr. — Mr. Walton, Waller, Weller, — W something 
or other. — What is it. Miss Essie ? I never can catch a 
strange name, but, curiously -enough, always know the 
initial letter.” 

You are really excusable this time. Miss Cally : for the 
Belton purchaser’s name is so absurd 1 ” answered Essie. 
‘‘It is Walruss, according to Mr. Golding’s rendering, — 
Abner Walruss.” 

“ Alfred Walworth ! ” cried Fred Somers eagerly and 
distinctly. “ By George, mother ! but ain’t that jolly 1 ” 

As that name, his name, so fraught with bitter, haunting 
memories, rang out across the table from the careless lips 
of this boyish stranger, Esther Brandon stared across at 
him as if in a trance. What cruel chance had brought 
Alfred Walworth down to Le Noir, where she had sought 
and found a peaceful retreat? Was the world not wide 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


185 


enough for him and her, that they should come together 
thus ? Could he not have gone his way, and left her to go 
hers in peace ? Did he know she was here ? Or was it 
again the work of blind chance ? Did chance, then, rule 
the world ? Verily it must. We are but miserably help- 
less puppets in its hands. Would she see him ? ISTeed she 
see him ? Dared she see him ? Did she want to see him ? 
Did she dread to see him ? How would they meet ? 
When was he coming ? A thousand questions her racked 
soul propounded : not one could her dizzy head answer. 

While, all the while, the young man opposite her ran on 
in a continuous stream of nonsensical delight at the 
prospect of having the Walworths for neighbors; and 
tortured Esther had to sit there, and hear him discussed 
as if he were just like other men. 

You are not eating. Miss Brandon. Let me coax jmu to 
try a price of this fried chicken : I am sure jmu will like 
it.^^ Mrs. Somers leaned persuasively toward her young 
guest. 

From the startled contemplation of a buried love poor 
Essie was thus brought back to the gross requirements of 
civilized life. 

If Miss Cally and you "will excuse me, Mrs. Somers, I 
think I will order my horse, and start for home,” was her 
abrupt response. 

Bide six miles on an empty stomach ! Dear child, if 
you’re sick now, you’d be much sicker when you get there.” 
And Miss Cally’s face was full of concern. 

“Please don’t stop me!” The poor girl was no longer 
equal to the calls of etiquette; and with a hasty apology 
she rose, and left the breakfast-room. 

She must get away from these people, — away by her- 
self, in the sad, dun woods, where she could look this new 
trouble boldly in the face, grapple with it as best she 
m light, conquer it if she could. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

NAMING THE BABY. 

“A BABE in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a 
messenger of peace and love,” says Mr. Proverbial Tup- 
per ; but, with all due deference to that gentleman’s 
wisdom, we would suggest the omission of the little mono- 
syllable peace.” 

Be that as it may, a man-child was born unto tlie line of 
Walworth ; and royalty’s self was never greeted upon this 
mundane sphere with more pomp and circumstance. 

And was it not royalty’s self? Who more absolute a 
monarch than King Baby? True, the head that, figura- 
tively speaking, wore the insignia of sovereignty, was very 
round and smooth and downy, for there was a paucity of 
hair thereupon ; and the bright, innocent eyes that looked 
upon this new kingdom in such wide-open astonishment 
were not unfrequently bedewed with very unkingly 
moisture; and the unconscious hands that wielded the 
sceptre of absolute authority were very small and very 
aimless; and royalty’s diminutive legs were given to a 
species of floundering and kicking highly subversive of 
court etiquette : but none the less absolute was his govern- 
ment, none the less loyal his liege subjects, — a sheepishly 
fond father ; a mother who made a boast of her idolatry ; 
an orthodox aunty, only too proud to be his majesty’s foot- 
ball ; et als. 

“What shall we name him?” asked the sweet young 
queen-mother, looking white and fragile as a broken lily, 
bending over King Baby’s lace-trimmed throne with softly 
186 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


187 


folded hands and bowed head, — a devotee bowing before the 
shrine of her idolatry. “ What shall we name him ? ” And 
the fond reverence in Maggie’s voice capitalized the him. 

Could the meagre English language furnish, or the clumsy 
human tongue articulate, a name lofty enough, euphonious 
enough, or significant enough, for baby’s acceptance ? 

Baby’s mother doubted it. 

Baby’s aunt, having a more exalted opinion of the Eng- 
lish language, or a less exalted one of the ruler of all tlie 
Walworths, thought possibly it might. 

But as it was the only baby they had, and as, when a 
name was once tacked on to it, good, bad, or indifterent, it 
had to be worn (for, unfortunately, one cannot throw a 
name aside like an old shoe or an ill-fitting garment), 
it behooved them to be very deliberate and very pains- 
taking. 

Before the advent, Mrs. Walworth had fully made up 
her mind to Evelina ; but Evelina had proved a boy, which 
necessitated a change in the programme. 

The first decided suggestion came from the nurse, — a 
coarse creature of mere flesh and blood,' good enough in 
her way, and skilful beyond comparison as a nurse, but a 
grovelling piece of humanitj^, who took a utilitarian view of 
ever}^ thing, and hence was utterly unfitted for a voice in 
such a weighty matter as naming the baby. 

“Call him James! That’s a good, hard, common-sense 
name; and, what’s more, can be shortened into Jim. I 
never did believe in making more’n one mouthful of a 
name.” 

“ Call my baby Jim ! ” shrieked Mrs. Walworth, horror 
in her voice, face, and eyes. 

I hardly think, if nurse had suggested Judas Iscariot as 
a pretty name for baby, she could have produced more of a 
sensation. 

“Well, then. Bob; that’s another good short ’un,” sug- 
gested the stolid wretch. 

Here Mrs. Alfred Walworth called all her dignity to her 
aid to crush this monster of utilitarianism, and politely re- 
quested nurse to spare them any more of her suggestions. _ 

“I am not in search of a short name, nurse: I am hesi- 
tating for a pretty one, a suitable one.” 

“ Lord bless your purty white face ! By the time you has a 


188 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


half-dozen of ’em crawlin’ round, pesterin’ the life out of 
you, you’ll think the suitableness lays in the shortness, and 
the shorter the purtier.” 

You’re an old hateful ! ” said Maggie with a pout. 
Then she returned to the subject in hand. 

Can’t you think of a single name, Mira? You’ve 
been sitting there looking as wise as an owl for nearly an 
hour.” 

With just about as much reason too,” laughed Mira. 

I was thinking it might please your father to have baby 
called Vincent. It would make a good Christian name.” 

‘‘If it’s a good Christian name you’re huntin’ for, call 
him Moses, and be done with it!” put in the irrepressible 
nurse. 

“Nurse, I will certainly tie a handkerchief over your 
mouth if you open it again,” said Mrs. Walworth, look- 
ing severe. 

Mira’s suggestion to name the baby for some one had 
set Maggie to thinking tliat maybe it would please Alfred 
to have him named for him. 

Baby’s father was something very near and dear to 
baby’s mother’s heart. 

“ How would it do to call him Alfred ? ” 

“ I veto that decidedly,” said Mira. “ It would be big 
Alfred and little Alfred. It is true,” pursued the young 
lady with cutting irony, “ it has one recommendation. As 
he is such a bouncing boy, it is susceptible of being neatly 
abbreviated into ‘ big A, little A, and bouncing B.’ ” 

“ My precious angel, does he hear Aunt Mira making fun ' 
of his poor mamma ? ” 

Which interrogatory was answered by a spasmodic up- 
lifting of baby’s small fist, that lunged out in an irrelevant 
fashion at space, saying, as plainly as a baby’s fist could 
say, “ W ait a while, and /’ll fight for you.” 

“ Frederic is a very pretty name,” suggested Miss Wal- 
worth demurely. 

“ I am not so sure that there wouldn’t be the same ob- 
jection to big Fred and little Fred as there would be to 
big Alfred and little Alfred,” said baby’s mother briskly. 

Miss Walworth grew very pink under this insinuation, 
and took refuge, from the raillery she had provoked, in 
Webster’s dictionary. 


AGAINST THE WOULD, 


189 


“ Let us see if W ebster can’t offer some happier sugges- 
tions than our unaided intellects are likely to bring forth.” 

I propose to read out the first name, with its significa- 
tion, that heads each of the alphabetical lists, thereby giving 
you tweiity-six names to select from ; after which, if you are 
not suited, I shall look upon you as a woman void of wit or 
reason, and shall leave you to your own dull devices^” 

“ Well,” exclaimed Maggie with childlike glee; “and I 
propose an amendment. We will let baby decide for him- 
self. The first name that he smiles at verij decidedh’-, we 
will give him : for you know they say, when a baby smiles, 
it is because he hears the angels whispering; and it will he 
the angels telling my boy which name to choose.” 

“Wise people are divided about that smiling of babies, 
you know. Some say it is an indication of colic,” was Mira’s 
cruel anti-climax to this romantic flight of Maggie’s. 

“ 0 Mira ! please be serious. I think it is very impor- 
tant that baby should have a nice name; and I think you 
might get in earnest about it.” 

“ Very well, dear little mother, I am in hard earnest now. 
Here’s the dictionary to prove it. I will read the names, 
and you watch for the smile : but, as he hasn’t appeared the 
least bit colicky to-da}^, don’t be disappointed if we reach 
X, Y, Z, without having been helped to a decision by the 
angels.” 

“If that is your Oiard earnest,”’ said Maggie with a 
pout, “ defend me from jmur levity.” 

For answer, Mira read from the open book upon her 
knee : — 

“ Aaron, — ^ lofty, inspired ; ’ Arab. ‘ Harun, or Haroun ; ’ 
Lat. ^ id.’’ ” 

“ Do you mean that you want me to name my baby 
^ Aaron, Arab, Harun, Lat. id.’ Mira Walworth?” ex- 
claimed her sister-in-law indignantly. 

“No, you precious little goose ! Aaron means Mofty ’ or 
^ inspired’ The Arabic of it is Harun, or Haroun. Lat. 
^id.’ means it is the same in Latin,” explained the reader. 

“ I don’t like it a bit, if it is lofty and inspired,” said 
Mrs. Walworth tartly. 

“ Yes ; but what does baby say ? He is to decide, you 
know.” 

.“ He looks decidedly sour about it ; don’t he, nurse ? ” 


190 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


And Maggie appealed to that experienced lady for cor- 
roboration of her statement. 

“Acid stomach!’’ was nurse’s reading of the puckers 
round the royal mouth. 

“Aaron has the advantage of having been celebrated in 
poesy,” remarked Miss Walworth, “if that is any recom- 
mendation in your eyes.” 

“ In poetry ? By whom ? ” asked romantic Maggie with 
eager interest. 

“ Have you never heard that exquisite couplet of Mother 
Goose’s ? — 

“ ‘ Let’s go to Sharon/ said Moses to Aaron ; 

‘Let’s cut off our noses/ said Aaron to Moses.” 

“ I wish you were in Sharon ! ” said Maggie with a pout. 

“ Well, then, ask your son what he thinks of Baldwin, 
which means ‘ bold and courageous ; ’ Lat.” — 

“ Spare me the ^ ids. ! ’ ” cried Maggie in dismay. 

“What does young Walworth say?” 

“Baldwin, Baldwin,” repeated Mrs. Walworth experi- 
mentally. “ I like the sound of it. It is a strong sort of a 
name. — Baldwin, my son, how do you like your name ? ” 

“ Hold ! You are to give no bias to his inclinations. The 
angels alone are to be permitted to advise him.” 

A royal edict was here issued against the name of Bald- 
win, so sharp, so expressive, so ear-rending, that, for a few 
moments, nomenclature was a matter of the smallest pos- 
sible import. 

“ It’s a fit ! ” shrieked the queen-mother. 

“ It’s a pin ! ” cried the startled aunt. 

“ It’s hungry 1 ” said the stolid nurse, who had been 
watching the nonsensical proceedings of the two young 
women with contemptuous disapproval. 

That nurse had no conception of the delicious relish a 
little daily nonsense gives to daily life. 

Order having been restored in Warsaw by Maggie’s 
gathering the small bundle of helplessness ami power, 
strength and weakness, softness and tyranny, ribbons and 
lace, into her arms tenderly, cuddling the soft white face 
in the maternal breast, business was resumed. 

“ Cadwallader, — ^ battle-arranger ’ ” — 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


191 


We’ll arrange a battle very speedily for anybody that 
tries to give us such a name ; won’t we, son ? ” 

Does be smile ? ” 

“No : he just winks in the most facetious manner.” 

“ Dan, — ^ a judge ’ ” — 

“ Oh ! he’s screwed his face up like a nut-cracker. It’s 
very evident he highly disapproves of Dan.” 

“ Don’t blame him,” said Mira. “ Ask him how he likes 
Eben, which means ‘ a stone.’ ” 

“ Precious lamb ! calling him hard names, when he’s been 
in this naughty world only a month. — But seriously, Mira, 
did Mr. Webster go back to the ark, whence he brought his 
own name, for that whole list of names ? ” 

“ It does read like it. But here’s one that I really 
like, — Felix. It means ^ happy and prosperous.’ Can’t you 
tickle a smile of approval from his majesty’s lips ? ” 

His eyelids droop. How heavily he lifts them ! Now 
they close again, — quietly, restfully, this time. He strug- 
gles no longer against sleep. His sweet red lips cease 
their hungry motion, fall softly apart ; and through them 
in gentle sighs comes the pure, fragrant breath. 

“ He is asleep ; he cannot help us,” whispers Maggie 
in the softest of voices. 

“Sleep signifies satisfaction,” whispers Mira with cor- 
responding softness. “He went to sleep at Felix. It 
evidently did not stir him to wrath. I like the name of 
Felix.” 

“SodoL” 

“ Then Felix let it be ; ” and the lids of the big tome on 
Miss Walworth’s lap were brought together noiselessly. 

“ Nurse, will you come and put my son Felix back in his 
crib ? ” A kiss as soft as a snowflake fluttered from the 
new-made mother’s lips down upon the little face so close to 
her ; and she tenderly repeated the name once more : “Felix, 
my son, God keep you happy and prosperous ! ” 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 


CONJUGAL AMENITIES. 


Get ready to move to the plantation in two weeks ! 
why, Alfred, it is simply impossible and Mrs. Walworth’s 
positive assertion was rendered still more positive by a rapid 
enumeration of the many objections to this sudden migra- 
tion, — objections which, in her eyes, formed insuperable 
obstacles. 

She was just getting strong enough to go about with 
baby ; and not half of Chester had seen their boy. She was 
just getting well enough to enjoy society; and now, just as 
the gay winter season was coming on, she must be buried on 
a plantation, with no chance to display the beautiful ward- 
robe she had brought from Europe. 

She didn’t know why he was so bent on moving away 
from Chester, anjdiow. Chester suited her very well ; she was 
perfectly happy there : she believed that was the very rea- 
son he wanted to tear her away from there. He wanted to 
take her where she would never see her dear father and 
mother again: she was certain she didn’t know what they 
had ever done to him that he should hate them so. Poor 
little helpless baby ! he, too, had to be dragged away from 
a comfortable home, and from every thing that loved him, 
and carried away to that hateful plantation, where there 
was nothing but alligators to eat him up. 

From which you will perceive that Mrs. Walworth did 
not lean very kindly toward her new Louisiana home. 

As Mr. Walworth had been strictly enjoined against let- 
ting his wife know that this migration to a warmer climate 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


193 


was entirely on lier own account, he had to bear her un- 
reasoning opposition as best he could. ’ 

He was standing on the hearth-rug, paring his nails, when 
his wife concluded her jeremiade. He had just informed 
her of his intention to start for Belton that day two 
weeks. 

He had no notion of altering that intention, nor had he 
any desire to prolong this altercation : so he remained true 
to his rule, and let his wife alone. Tlie paring of his 
finger-nails seemed to absorb his every faculty. 

“Won’t you ever have done paring 3mur nails, Alfred? 
I could have trimmed ten pairs of hands in this time.” 

“ Do you wish the knife ? It is at your service.” 

No j I don’t want the knife : I want something of far 
more importance, — something that, unhappily, I cannot 
purchase as easily as I could a knife.” 

“ And that is ? ” asked Alfred in tones of polite inquiry. 

“ My liusband’s love and respect.” 

“ Don’t let us grow sentimental, and talk about love. 
What instance of disrespect can you charge me with ? ” 

“ You treat me just like a child.” 

“ Prove that you are not one, and I will alter my mode 
of treatment.” 

“ There you go, insulting me afresh at every turn ! ” 

“ If I insulted you, I beg your pardon.” 

“And jmu never give me your reasons for doing any 
thing : I complain of that.” 

“Unjustly. It is not necessary that I should explain 
every thing : you should have sufficient confidence in jmur 
husband to believe that he is acting for your good.” 

“ My good, indeed ! Much does it matter to you what 
my good dictates ! Is it for my good that I am to be torn 
from every soul that loves me ? ” 

“ My dear, you are guilty of tautology. Don’t ring the 
changes on one charge so often.” 

“ 0 you cruel, cruel man ! If you didn’t love me, what 
did you marry me for ? ” 

For my own eternal torment, I suppose,” answered 
Alfred Walworth, rasped beyond the powers of endurance. 

Then Maggie fell back upon her forlorn hope, — tears. 
But Alfred Walworth was not a man who could be sobbed 
into terms. 


13 


194 


AG IN ST THE WOULD. 


‘‘We leave this day two weeks, Mrs. Walworth: it will 
not be necessary for me to remind you again.” 

And, turning to the mantle-shelf, he scratched a match 
on its under-ledge for cigar-lighting purposes. 

“ There’s no use choking the baby to death because you 
are angry with me,” sobbed Maggie from behind her wet 
handkerchief. 

“ Excuse me ! I had forgotten that the young man didn’t 
approve of smoke.” And the young father threw the lighted 
match into the grate. “ I will go down stairs to smoke.” 

“ I would if I were you ! The idea of remaining five min- 
utes with baby and me seems to be death to you lately.” 

‘^Did I not understand you to say that you preferred I 
should not smoke in your bedroom now ? ” 

Certainly you did. Is there anything so very unrea- 
sonable in not wanting my child’s lungs filled with tobacco- 
smoke ? ” 

“ Hot at all. Therefore I was going awa^rfrom him to do 
my smoking.” 

He reached the door. 

“ Alfred ! ” 

“Well?” 

“Don’t you care the least little bit for me? ” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“Alfred!” 

“Well?” 

“ Please come back.” 

“ I want to smoke.” 

“Just for a moment.” 

“Well, here I am.” 

“ Alfred, ain’t you going to kiss me ? ” 

“ I am only going down stairs.” 

“ But you’re angry with me.” 

“Hot at all.” 

“You think I am perfectly hateful.” 

“Hot at all.” 

“ But you do.” 

“ Well, then, I do.” 

“You might at least have the grace to keep it to your- 
self.” r j 

“ You wouldn’t let me.” 

You think I’m the most spiteful woman that overlived. 
I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.” 


AGATNST THE WORLD. 


195 


“T tiiinlv 3’-ou are exercising your woman’s prerogative to 
make jmurself and every one around you infernally mis-, 
erable.” 

“Heavens! that I should ever live to hear my husband 
use such language ! ” 

“ Then have a care how you rasp him.’’ 

“Don’t lay your sins on my poor shoulders. Goodness 
knows, if I’d had the faintest conception of what a temper 
you had, my name would never have been Walworth.” 

“It is a pity some of your friends did not enlighten 
you.” 

“ There ! I always knew you were sorry you married 
me.” Sob, sob, sob ! 

“ Margaret, for God’s sake, stop this childish nonsense ! ” 

“ Well, then, say you do love me some.” 

“I do love you some, if that will help you to behave 
yourself.” 

“ And kiss me.” 

Mr. Walworth stooped and went through the osculatory 
ceremony. 

“ You don’t kiss as if you meant it.” 

“ Well, then, here’s another.” 

“ Alfred, am I very hateful ? ” 

“ Ho worse than other women, I suppose ; ” which was the 
utmost concession that could ever be wrung from her spouse 
by Mrs. Walworth in the not unfrequent recurrence of these 
pleasant little conjugal episodes. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 


MRS. SOMERS CONDESCENDS. 

Gracious Goodness have mercy on my soul ! There’s 
a carriage stopping at the gate ; and I don’t even know to 
whom it belongs, unless it’s that splendid Mrs. Somers. I’m 
in a beautiful fix to receive a fashionable lady just from 
Europe ! — my face as red as an Indian’s, and my hands 
as black as a darkj’-’s with walnut stain ; and, of course, my 
ketchup will all spoil before she leaves. And I’m sure it’s 
very kind of her to be so sociable ; but — Nanny, you out- 
rageous little rowdy ! how many times have I told you you 
just shouldn’t pop* corn at the parlor-fire ? Run, miss, with 
that popper, quick ! Jump ! sweep those ashes back under 
the fender! Mercy, what a looking hearth ! And there’s 
father’s old pipe for a mantle-ornament ! Frank, can’t you 
possibly induce Rip to select some other place but the par- 
lor rug for a bed day and night? Drive him out! Look 
at the stubborn brute! Beat him, bang him! — Hush 
your racket, sir!— yelping as if you were killed outright. 
I vow it’s enough to wear the flesh off a woman’s bones 
to have to keep house for such a disorderly crew ! You 
Jinny ! if ever I do catch you peeping through the 
crack of the door at company again. I’ll cure you of 
peeping forever. Shove that mess Frank’s been making 
under the sofa ! I’ll begin on you and your sister to-mor- 
row, sir, and see if I can’t teach you the meaning of the 
word ‘ order.’ 0 Lord ! there they are on the steps ! And 
look at my head! Gracious ! this old check apron ! ” 

Exit Mrs. Golding, — red and palpitating, coifture frowsy, 
196 


AGAIN ^ST THE WORLD. 


197 


general appearance more suggestive of homelike comfort 
than elegance, — driving her penates, Frank, Nanny, E-ip, 
and Jinny, like a flock of sheep, ahead of her. 

Enter Mrs. Somers, — aristocratically white, elegantly 
cool ; coiffure not easily describable, by reason of a love of a 
Parisian bonnet which hid it ; general appearance suggestive 
of entire satisfaction with lier own superb self and her sur- 
roundings, — followed by Miss Gaily Henderson, who, since 
the appearance of this magnificent planet, has sunk into the 
insignificant position of a satellite. 

Whenever Estella Somers had once fully made up her 
mind to a certain course of action, weighty indeed must be 
the obstacle that could prove such in her pathway. A wo- 
man who has minimized her conscience, and maximized her 
will, can ride rough-shod over customs and social regulations 
that would prove fatal impediments to her weaker or more 
orthodox sisters. 

Mrs. Somers had determined to satisfy herself as to Miss 
Brandon’s antecedents : she had also made up her mind to 
a piece of poetical justice. 

If this superb young beauty, now earning her own live- 
lihood by the dreariest of all drudgery, should (as she 
shrewdly suspected she would) prove to be the child whom 
she had found it so easy, by the aid of spiteful circumstance, 
to defraud of a fortune, she would restore her to her own by a 
marriage with the present heir-apparent to Eoger Etheridge’s 
wealth. 

And the world, for whom Estella Somers entertained the 
profoundest reverence, would look upon her son’s union with 
this beautiful governess as an indication that the mother, 
whose influence over the son was known to be boundless, 
was a woman of such very superior mould, that she soared 
above all considerations of expediency in sanctioning this 
union of souls; and the world would praise her therefor; 
and the world’s praises constituted her happiness. 

A shrewd student of her kind, she had read Essie accu- 
rately enough, during the few hours they had been together 
under the same roof, to feel convinced that some extraordi- 
nary effort would have to be made by herself before the 
young lady could be prevailed upon to resume her visits to 
the Oaks. 

The ends of poetical justice required that those visits 


198 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


sliould be renewed: lienee the bold determination to pay 
the initial visit to Mrs. Golding. Etiquette required that 
Mrs. Golding should pay the first visit : policy required 
that etiquette should be pushed to the wall. The Oaks 
could go to Locust Grove without derogation : the Oaks could 
not presume. Mrs. Somers could not intrude : she could 
condescend ; and she did condescend. 

Mrs. Golding returned presently, looking painfully con- 
scious of having been gotten up to order, tiy as she would 
to make believe she’d been in reception-trim all day long. 

To receive a freshly-returned European traveller in an 
every-day calico wrapper was palpably impossible : she didn’t 
suppose anybody but the lowest order of menials wore calico 
over 3mnder. So her black silk, which rarely ever saw the 
light in that secluded country neighborhood, was jerked out 
of its linen wrappings in frantic haste, and Mrs. Golding’s 
ample person jerked into its sacred precincts with equal haste. 
Alas ! the dress had grown too small, or Mrs. Golding had 
grown too big. King George and all his horses ” could 
not have brought those last two buttons into amicable rela- 
tions with their corresponding button-holes. It was evident 
they had parted never to meet again. There was nothing 
for it but to hide the deficiency by a flannel sack, which 
acted as a cloak of charity, albeit it somewhat marred the 
silken splendor of the robe. One or two skilful applications 
of the hair-brush brought each particular hair into such 
rigidity of position, that it was hard to conceive the possi- 
bility that another application of the brush would ever be 
necessaiy. Slapping her unoffending face mercilessly with a 
starch-bag in an irrelevant fashion, wliich was not productive 
of very artistic results, and arming herself with a pocket- 
handkerchief so very fresh and so very stiff', tliat, in mercy to 
Mrs. Golding’s nose, let us hope she will reserve it entirely 
for ornamental purposes, her toilet was complete ; and she 
returned to the parlor a perfect picture of amiable hospitali- 
ty and physical discomfort. 

With the easy elegance of assumed superiority, Mrs. 
Somers extended her hand when Miss Cally introduced her 
to the mistress of Locust Grove, and hoped Mrs. Golding 
would not think her very presumptuous in being so un- 
ceremonious. But in a small countiy neighborhood, where 
everybody' ought to be such good friends, ceremony seemed 
sadly out of place. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


100 


Mrs. Golding was sure she was very much obliged to lier 
for showing such a sociable spirit, and hoped they would 
all be good friends ; during which little speech, Mrs. Gold- 
ing’s hands and feet, like cereinon}^, seemed sadly out 
of place. 

Miss Cally regarded her handsome cousin with admiring 
astonishment as she glided on from topic to topic, never 
failing to select one that was within conversational reach 
of the mistress of Locust Grove. Estella was certainly a 
remarkably superior woman. 

Malicious men-folks say that the gist of a woman’s letter 
is always in the postscript. In the same way, when it was 
about time for Mrs. Somers to bid her hostess adieu, she 
introduced the real object of her visit. 

Was Miss Brandon engaged? She could not think 
of such a thing as tearing Cousin Cally away without her 
having seen the sweet young girl who had taken such a 
hold upon her affections that she could talk to them of 
nothing else. 

Miss Brandon was not engaged; at least, not with the 
•children. Mrs. Golding would summon her. 

Essie came promptly in answer to the summons ; and, 
walking first up to Miss Cally, she kissed her warmly and 
cordially; then she greeted the handsome lady of the Oaks 
with a stately inclination of her head. 

But a daintily-gloved hand was held out, which Essie had 
to clasp. 

“ My dear Miss Brandon, I come charged with friendlj^ 
messages from my brother to add to my own solicitations 
that you will resume your weekly visits to the Oaks, and 
not allow our return to interrupt your studies. You see 
Cousin Cally has told us all about you, and, in fact, has 
stirred my poor brother up to take a greater degree of 
interest in you than he has taken in any thing or any one 
for a long time past.” 

^•You are all very kind; and I thank you sincerely.” 
But the look of gratitude that accompanied the words was 
sent straight into Miss Cally’s kind eyes. 

Yes. But, my dear, we don’t want thanks ; we want 
promises,” put in that lady. I want you to show that you 
really do thank Cousin Boger for what is a remarkable 
display of interest on his part by doing as he asks you, — 


200 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


resuming your weekly visits, studying during the day, and 
giving us some sweet music of evenings : that will be the 
way to thank him sincerely. ^Actions speak louder than 
words : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

May I send the carriage for you on Friday, Miss Essie ? 
Excuse the familiarity; but Cousin Cally’s frequent men- 
tion of you as ^ Miss Essie ’ must be my apology.” Mrs. 
Somers was her most pleading self. 

Thank you, madam ; but I could not think of such a 
thing as putting you to so much trouble.” 

Miss Essie knows she is more than welcome to my car- 
riage whenever she would like to go,” interpolated Mrs. 
Golding. But she has always seemed to prefer black 
Bess.” 

My son would only be too happy to act as your escort, 
then, my dear. The poor boy is such an admirer of ladies, 
and, withal, such a passionate lover of music, that he would 
esteem it a happy privilege to ride over for you.” 

Esther was becoming sadly embarrassed, and, withal, 
genuinely puzzled. Her knowledge of human nature was 
limited ; but what small experience she had was not calcu- 
lated to make her err on the side of credulity. What Mrs. 
Somers’s object was, she was, as yet, unable to fathom ; but 
that she had an object in this flattering solicitude for her 
society, she did not for a moment doubt. 

“ It pains me to seem so rude and ungrateful,” she said 
in answer to this last proposition of the lady’s ; “ but the 
Oaks can never be to me what it was while Miss Cally 
was its sole occupant. I could never feel as free there now 
as I did then ; and, though I do thank you and Mr. Ether- 
idge with my whole heart, I cannot promise to do as you 
ask me. Please make him understand that I do thank 
him.” 

‘^Make him understand flddlesticks ! ” exclaimed Miss 
Cally, irritated beyond all control by this stubborn refusal. 

I shall make him understand that you are as full of stub- 
born pride as an egg is of meat. The Bible says, ‘He 
that hath friends must show himself friendly ; ’ and, ‘ Pride 
goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a 
fall : ’ that’s my philosophy. I am sure I am entirely out 
of patience with you.” And she looked it thoroughly. 

“ Hold, my good cousin ! Don’t let us pelt our pretty 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


truant into terms with proverbial rochs. I do not despair 
of seeing her at home at the Oaks yet ; hut she shall not he 
scolded there. — You have proven one thing to me, young 
lady ; and Mrs. Somers carried her regards from Miss 
Cally’s wrathful visage back to Esther’s placid face. 

And that is ? ” 

That my brother, blind as he is, is a better judge of 
character than I am.” 

How so ? ” asked Essie. 

He felt so sure that I could not prevail upon you all 
at once to resume your regular visits ; and he feels so in- 
terested in your desire to fit yourself for dramatic readings, 
that he enumerated a certain list of books, and requested 
me to bring them over wdth me this morning, and begs 
you to keep them as long as you see fit.” 

Tears of genuine gratitude sprang into the young girl’s 
beautiful eyes. 

“ There, now ! ” said Miss Gaily. I hope that makes you 
feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself.” 

‘^Hot ashamed, dear Miss Gaily, hut, if possible, more 
grateful than before for such undeserved kindness ; and it 
makes me look upon Mr. Etheridge as more than ever my 
benefactor.” 

All very pretty, my dear ; hut when you refuse to grant 
your benefactor the solace, that, we all assure you, your 
music would be to him, I am compelled to think your 
gratitude don’t amount to much.” 

Don’t abuse me any more. Miss Gaily. I will come, if 
I can give Mr. Etheridge pleasure. Probably, if you knew 
all the reasons for my hesitancj^, you would not judge me 
so harshly.” 

Poor Essie ! They had badgered her into running the risk 
of meeting Alfred Walworth at the Oaks, rather than hold 
out any longer in seeming ingratitude. 

Darling child, forgive me ! Pm nothing but a spiteful 
old maid. But I do miss you sadly; and, when all the 
family are prepared to take you into their affection, I could 
not very patiently endure the idea of your turning up that 
pretty nose so disdainfully.” 

‘Wou have entirely misunderstood me ; but let that 
pass.” 

May I impose one condition on my visiting at the Oaks, 
Mrs. Somers ? ” she continued, turning to Estella. 


202 


AGAINST THE WOI^LD. 


A dozen, my dear young lady, if you like.” 

“ I only wish to say, that I have no desire to mingle in 
society generally. Promise that, in case I should find any 
one at the Oaks beside your own immediate family, you will 
not ask me to stay.” 

^^Kather a queer condition. Miss Essie; but, as I consider 
the Oaks the obliged party in this visiting-contract, you are 
at perfect liberty to make your own terms, and treat any 
chance visitors we may have as cavalierly as you choose.” 

Thank you ! Then I will come.” 

“Not until you feel like it, my dear. I am sure it is the 
very farthest wish from our hearts to make you feel under 
any obligations to us. Roger sent you the books because he 
did not like to have your studies broken up by our return ; 
and he has selected them with the nicest judgment, taking 
care to send those best adapted for your purpose. But they 
were not sent as a bribe. And I would not have you let 
Cally’s denunciatory sentences act as a threat upon you. 
If you like us, come to us as to true friends : if you do not 
like us, be just as proud and stubborn as you like, without 
fear or favor ; and I wonT let Cally abuse you here or at 
home.” Estella Somers looked very handsome and very 
persuasive as she stood up before Mrs. Golding’s governess 
and said these words, holding one of the girl’s slender white 
hands between her two delicately-gloved ones. Her fine 
gray eyes looked gently winning ; and all that voice and 
manner could add, by way of giving weight to hej words, 
was added. 

Farewells were uttered ; the footman was ordered to 
bring in the package of books ; and the handsome new car- 
riage rolled noiselessly away from the front-gate of Locust 
Grove. 

“ You lucky girl ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Golding, seizing Es- 
ther by the shoulders with all the enthusiasm her painfully- 
tight silk sleeves would allow. 

“ How ! ” asked Essie, who was reading over the titles of 
her heap of treasures with hungry delight. 

“ Why, my dear, it’s as clear as the nose on a man’s face.” 

“ Whose nose ? ” inquired Miss Brandon abstractedly ; 
for, from the titlepage of one volume, she had plunged into 
media res. 

“No one’s nose in particular, that I know of. I only 


AGAINST THE WOBLD. 


203 


meant to imply that it was such a very clear case of love 
at first sight.” There was a suspicion of tartness in good 
Mrs. Golding’s voice that made Essie remember her man- 
ners. 

She closed the hook in her hand, and said politely, 
Please excuse me ; I don’t believe I was listening very 
attentively.” 

“ Why, of course. Miss Essie, all this unusual attention 
on Mrs. Somers’s part can mean but one thing. That son 
of hers, who, they do say, is as handsome as a picture, has 
fallen in love with you at first sight. And people do say 
Mrs. Somers worships the ground he walks on ; and I say, 
it’s as clear as the nose on a man’s face that she’s courting 
you for her son.” 

I had forgotten the young man entirely. He is very 
handsome, — handsomer than a good many pictures. But I 
don’t think he is any more in love with me than I am with 
him ; and that is not one particle,” said Essie with that 
coolly-repellent voice which always warned trespassers off 
forbidden ground. 

Notwithstanding which, Mrs. Golding clung tenaciously 
to the romantic solution of Mrs. Somers’s affability. 

I declare,” murmured the tender-hearted lady, expand- 
ing her chest for a good long breath on getting out of her 
black silk prison, it will be just like a novel ! A poor but 
beautiful young girl, teaching for her living, meets this 
handsome rich young man : but she’s too proud to look at 
him until all the family court her for him ; and then she — 
they — Mercy ! my walnut-ketchup ! I know it’s nothing 
but ink!” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


STRIKING A BALANCE. 

Alone in her room that night, with the tokens of Roger 
Etheridge’s thoughtful kindness ranged on a table by her 
side, — mute witnesses to the fact, that, amid all his 
own heart- troubles,' their owner had found time to think 
considerately of her, a stranger, and one in whom it was 
impossible he could have any selfish interest, — Esther said 
to herself, “ He is a noble-hearted, unselfish man, and has 
taken this course to compensate me for my banishment from 
his splendid library. He is an unselfish man. How rare a 
thing that is ! ” 

Whereupon Miss Brandon wandered off into a train of 
moralizing and self-communion, as was her wont in moments 
of thoughtful idleness, — a process as often productive of 
evil results as of good. But, in this case, I think -the good 
was unquestionable ; for it led Essie to strike a balance 
between the good and evil forces that had been brought to 
bear upon her in her fight against the world, and resulted 
in — wait, and see what. 

The small bedroom, which was Esther’s study as well as 
sleeping-apartment now that she was an exile from the grand 
old room, that, as she once enthusiastically declared to Miss 
Gaily, “ acted as an inspiration upon her,^’ looked more in- 
viting under its winter-aspect than in the hot summer- 
weather, when one craves unlimited space and air. What 
had been stifling in mid-summer was cosey in early winter. 
The flowery chintz-coverings, that had acted somewhat as 
does a red rag on the bovine genus upon a memorable occa- 
204 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


205 


sion when she was just freshly returned from the cool white- 
ness of Miss Cally’s chamber-drapery, diftused a cheerfully 
warm look about the little sixteen by twenty, now that 
there was nothing but dead branches and gray moss and 
mud and slush outside to distract one’s attention from their 
gay tracerj^ The andirons, that supported the brightly- 
• burning ash-wood, were polished to the last degree of bright- 
ness, epitomizing the room and its contents through the 
media of two great brass balls that surmounted them ; and 
the lamp on the table was newly filled and newly trimmed, 
and the glass globe bespoke recent ablutions. By the side 
of the fender, upon which were comfortably crossed Essie’s 
small slippered feet, lay a fresh supply of white-ash wood 
for replenishing-purposes. A dreary November rain was 
splashing sullenly and monotonously against the sash, en- 
hancing, by the laws of contrast, the inside comfort. 

“But why this minuteness in describing a commonplace 
room, in a commonplace house, on a commonplace occasion ? ” 
Because, my dear caviller, all those comfortable and com- 
forting atoms had their bearing in enabling Miss Brandon 
to strike a just balance. Sages talk of the mastery of mind 
over matter. Are they not, rather, indissolubly connected, 
helplessly dependent ? To illustrate : — 

If the swart woodman, whose duty it was to fell, haul, cut, 
and cord the wood for household consumption at Locust 
Grove, had seen fit to select from the varied forest treasures 
at his command a sweet-gum in place? of an ash tree, and, so 
selecting, had left the smaller official, whose duty it was to 
keep each apartment amply supplied with fuel, no option in 
the matter of green or dry ; in consequence of which had Miss 
Brandon ruminated in front of a pile of sullen logs, from 
whose green hearts the sap exuded with a mournful wail 
most depressing in tendency ; had murky gum smoke-wreaths 
curled upward where now danced cheery ashen flames, — 
would mental abstraction have been sufficient to render her 
oblivious of physical discomfort? Would not matter have, 
asserted its sovereignty, and impelled Essie toward the lugu- 
brious conclusion that this world was but a miserable place 
of probation, where we were to be fitted, by privation and 
suftering, for canonization above ? For where breathes the 
man or woman heroic enough to philosophize cheerfully over 
a green- wood fire? 


206 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


But the inspired woodman had felled an ash instead of 
a sweet-gum ; his subordinate had supplied the andirons gen- 
erously ; and the cheerful flames penetrated through the 
physique into the morale of Esther Brandon, superinducing 
a corresponding warmth of soul. So I contend that the fire 
that laughed instead of sulking, and the curtains that 
shielded her vision from the distressed outside world, and the 
lamp that mellowed its light to her caprices, were all entitled 
to their share of the credit in helping her to a just balance. 

A kind act from a total stranger had stirred the gratitude 
in her heart, and gave tone to all her thoughts for -that day. 

In that miserable time in the past, when, at one fell swoop, 
her happiness, her love, her most sacred memories, her faith 
in her kind, had been swept from her grasp, she had been 
ready to curse God, and die.’’ When, in the calmness of 
the despair that followed, the power of reasoning came back 
to her, she reasoned as do all those who have been sore 
smitten in their affections. Bier logic was the universal logic 
of the wretched. 

Happiness had proved but a bitter mockery to her : hence 
there was no such thing as happiness. Love had been to her 
a delusion and a snare : therefore to be wise was to love not. 
A fearful whisper had steeped the idolized memory of her 
mother in shame and bitterness : so, with iconoclastic zeal, 
she sneered at idol-worship. Her faith in her kind had been 
broken by the baseness of one man : hence all men were 
base. 

And, for a while, Esther Brandon, whom God had made 
naturally trusting, loving, and charitable, was converted by 
the treachery of man into a distrustful, loveless, and bitter 
woman, suffering acting upon her as it does upon all her 
sex ; for it is a sex that feels acutely, but reasons feebly. 

But the homely, kindly atmosphere of Le Noir was obnox- 
ious to the growth of cynicism, natural or cultivated. In 
mental stature, the Le Noirites were the veriest pygmies ; but 
in all that appertained to moral growth, or healthy culture of 
the affections, they were giants in the land. 

The live Christianity of Miss Cally Henderson, the uni- 
form sunshinyness of good Mrs. Golding, the never-failing 
charity of her -placid husband, the brusque benevolence of 
genial Dr. Sparks, and now, added to these, the kind cour- 
teousness of the blind master of the Oaks, all wore slowly. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


207 


but surely, upon Esther’s benumbed heart, which was as 
slowly, but as surely, awakening to new life under these 
kindly influences. 

“After all,” she murmured, glancing gratefully at the 
mental aliment furnished her by this new friend, “ is not the 
good and evil pretty equally balanced in this world of ours, 
if one would only think so ? How has it been with me ? 
The mother who bore me cast me helpless upon the world, 
dowried with shame, stained by another’s guilt. Madame 
Celestine, the stranger who took me in, was good and tender 
and patient beyond the ordinary run of mothers. 

“Philip Walworth, the man to whom, for a short, bright 
while, I looked up to as to a father, made wreck of my faith in 
God and man : he is a blot upon the face of the universe. 
E-oger Etheridge, a man whose life, like my own, has been 
broken by the wrong-doing of others, sorrow-stricken and 
lonely, deals tenderly and courteously with all around him, 
and thinks unselflshly of the needs and wants of an insignifi- 
cant chance visitor under his roof. 

“Alfred Walworth, the lover who swore to love me to the 
bitter end, whose devotion knew no bounds, who W'as ready 
to trample upon the world and its mandates for love of me, 
has forgotten my very existence in his wedded happiness. 
Old Dinah, a poor ignorant negress, through life and unto 
death was faithfully devoted to the mistress whom she alone 
of all the world befriended, and, dying, strove to obey her 
behests. 

“ Mrs. Somers I believe to be as false as she is fair. Miss 
Gaily Henderson is as true as steel. 

“ And who have I of evil to place in the balances against 
bright, cheery Mrs. Golding, and dear old Mr. Golding, who 
calls me child, and treats me so persistently like a favored 
one, that my fixed resolve never to care again for people is 
melting like snow beneath the warm sunshine ? 

“And I have done very little to merit their goodness. It is 
just out of the fulness of their own kind hearts that they 
are so good to me.” Two small white hands came softly and 
earnestly together ; and a gentle aspiration fluttered over the 
girl’s sweet lips. 

“ May I grow day by day more worthy of the new friends 
God is raising up to me ! ” 

Ah ! blind Koger Etheridge, you’ve sown the seed of kind- 


208 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


ness in goodly soil. Ah ! bright spirit that dances in the 
ashen flames, right bravely have you done your work. 

But what can I do with a heroine who will persist in being 
a woman, when I want a character ? 

To preserve the unities, she ought to have gone on to the 
word finis, doubting, distrusting, despising, because she 
once had cause for so doing. 

As it was, the incrustation of ice that had formed over her 
frozen heart was gradually melting away, and she was, day 
by day, becoming more like the old Esther Brandon, the 
Queen Zenohia whom the girls at school all looked up to 
with a queer admixture of love and fear; colder, quieter, 
more stately, — for all the enthusiasm of ardent youth had 
been chilled out of her, — but sweetly dignified, gently calm, 
serenely beautiful with the weight of her twenty-one years 
hearing lightly upon her proud young face ; with a deep, soul- 
ful look in her dark blue eyes, that comes only to those 
who have felt the iron in their souls ; a pathetic sweetness 
about the mouth that had well-nigh forgotten its trick of 
smiling ; a creature well worthy the respect of all good men 
and true, albeit 

“ Not too fair nor good 
Eor common mortal’s daily food.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


CONTAINS A LETTER OF IMPORTANCE, 


More than a week had elapsed since Mrs. Somers’s visit 
of condescension, during which period every spare moment 
of Esther’s time had been devoted to hard study. 

The plan which she had mapped out for herself, in the 
calm security of her retreat from all disturbing influences, 
needed to-be remodelled now, since a curious and remarkable 
chance had directed Alfred Walworth’s steps toward her 
asylum. 

To maintain that placidity of mind so necessary for the 
pursuance of her life-object, in a locality where she was in 
danger of being thrown into contact with him at any mo- 
ment, was manifestly impossible. She did not dare analyze 
the feelings that filled her soul at the mere thought of 
meeting this whilom lover : she only knew that the idea 
of meeting him, at all filled her with the liveliest emotion. 
These new friends of hers at the Oaks were already ac- 
quainted with him : at their house alone lay the danger 
of seeing him. She had stipulated for the privilege of 
being as rude as she chose to be in case this danger should 
become imminent. Therefore she would resume her visits ; 
for, beside motives of gratitude toward Mr. Etheridge, 
there was the disposal of the package which old Dinah had 
intrusted to her, which necessitated communication with 
the Oaks. 

Her remodelled plan of action was this, — to avail her- 
self of the books and the kindness of Roger Etheridge 
until the close of her engagement with Mr. Golding; to 
14 209 


210 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


remove from the neigliborhood at the end of tliat engage- 
ment, and complete her preparations for public readings 
under the kindly protection of good Madame Celestine ; and, 
in the mean while, to use every means at her command to 
fathom Estella Somers before rashly sowing the seed of 
discord between her and the brother to whom she seemed 
so indispensable, trusting to chance that the* short rem- 
nant of her sojourn in tlie Le-Noir neighborhood might 
pass without her encountering Alfred Walworth. 

‘‘ Ho has not come yet, or Mr. Golding would have men- 
tioned it as an item of local gossip,” said she to herself as 
she mounted her gentle palfrey to pay her promised visit to 
the Oaks. 

Miss Gaily received her with unaffected delight; Mrs. 
Somers, with an effusive warmth which puzzled, but did not 
impress her agreeably ; Mr. Fred Somers, with the easy grace 
of a young man to whom a handsome woman was no novel- 
ty; while the blind master of the Oaks held her little hand 
in a firm, warm clasp, as he told her in a voice of gentle 
earnestness how much he wished she would try to feel as 
much at home in the old library as in the days of IMiss 
Cally’s sole occupancy. When he ceased speaking, he 
dropped the girl’s small hand slowly and reluctantly^ Its 
lithe, slender fingers, warm, soft palm, firm and magnetic 
clasp, thrilled him to the heart, quickening memories that 
only slumbered, but would not die. This stranger’s hand, 
with its electric touch, was like no other hand but hers : 
the warm, firm clasp, the magnetism, were all hers. He 
could hold that little hand, and fondly dream it was the 
hand of his dead wife, nestling, as of yore, in his loving 
clasp. 

Did this young stranger, whose voice was so sadly like 
hers, whose touch thrilled him as once had hers — did she 
look like her too ? Ah, could he but see ! Never before 
had Roger Etheridge rebelled against his blindness. In 
the first rush of his misery, he had said in bitterness of 
soul, when they told him that a cure was possible, Why 
should I lament the loss of sight ? Why should I try to 
regain it? The garish sunlight would but mock me with 
its brightness ; Nature’s smiles would hut augment my 
midnight gloom ; others would flaunt their happiness in my 
face, when happiness is but a cruel mockery to me ; the 


AGAI.\ST THE WORLD. 


211 


beauty of women, that snare for men’s brains and souls, 
woul(l but madden me with the recollection of the fair face 
that has been my ruin. No; let me be as I am. My soul 
is plunged in eternal darkness : let my body be so likewise. 
If God is merciful, he will soon relieve me of the life that 
has become a burden.” 

So reasoned the blind man in his fierce anguish, stub- 
bornly refusing to be experimented upon. But God had 
been merciful, and had not released him from life, but had 
softened his heart, and mellowed his grief, until it had come 
to him to think, that, if that dark episode in his brief mar- 
ried life were to do over again, he would temper justice 
with mercy. 

But the dead past would not live again ; nor had he 
ever thought to wish it. But the sweet songster who had 
welcomed him to his long- deserted home with her voice 
and her song had stirred the dulled pulses of his heart with 
a strange power ; and he lamented the blindness vdiich hid 
her from his sight. 

Miss Cally had carried Essie off in triumph to rid her 
of her cumbrous riding-habit ; Frederic had left the room 
to give orders for the stabling of Miss Brandon’s horse ; and 
the brother and sister were left alone. 

^^Are we alone, Estella?” asked the blind man, who had 
sunk back into his arm-chair after greeting their young 
guest. 

Yes, brother: do you wish anything?” And, with the 
alacrity that always characterized her motions when Boger 
called, Mrs. Somers came and stood over him. 

Estella, does she look like The strong man’s 

voice had a pathetic tremulou.sness in it, that told how 
deeply he was stirred. 

Well, very well, did his sister comprehend his meaning; 
but she needed a little longer space of time in which to 
draw her fancy picture: so she answered with another 
question : — 

Does who look like who, Boger dear ? ” 

Does this Miss Brandon look like my Amy ? Tell me 
quick. I want to think so.” And the poor sightless eyes 
were upturned so eagerly to the handsome face bending over 
them, as Estella’s jewelled hand was caught in a feverish 
clasp. 


212 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


My poor brother, what a cruel hold that beautiful 
adventuress took on your noble heart ! No : this pretty 
stranger resembles her in not one respect. She was tall: 
Miss Brandon is petite. She had melancholy violet eyes : 
Miss Brandon’s are blue, it is true, but light blue, with a 
brightly defiant look in them. Her mouth was sweet, but 
weakly tremulous : this girl’s has a firm decision about it 
that hardly belongs to her sex. Her hair was black as 
sloes : Miss Brandon’s is light almost to the verge of 
blondeness.” 

^‘Enough, enough: let us talk of something else. It 
was a foolish fancy.” 

Estella Somers bad looked straight down upon her helpless 
brother, and given this false description of Esther Brandon, 
without a quaver in her full rich voice, or a blush of shame 
dyeing her handsome face. It was a lie, and she knew it 
was : but it was a perfectly safe lie ; for never since the blow 
descended had lier brother ever alluded to his trouble to 
any one but herself. Nor was it at all likely he ever would 
do so. It was for her interest to destroy, as far as in her 
lajq this tendency on Boger’s part to dwell on the past. 
He had startled her terribly since their return liome, by say- 
ing half dreamily, half as if he meant it, If I were not so 
helpless, I would try to find her child, and provide for it.” 

Upon which his sister had hastily reminded him that the 
child had been put in good hands, with relatives of its 
mother, who were well to do in the world. 

That had been all ; but it had been startling. 

Essie came back presently, and lent herself with right 
good will and triumphant success to the task of showing 
the blind master of the Oaks her gratitude. 

She sang to him song after song as he called for them, 
winning grateful thanks from him, graceful flattery from 
Mrs. Somers, and loud praises from Mr. Ered Somers ; Miss 
Gaily sitting by all the while, beaming with a proud look of 
satisfaction, as if Essie was entirely a piece of her own home 
manufacture, about which she was justly entitled to be a 
little boastful. 

Nothing would satisfy Mrs. Somers’s hospitable interest in 
their visitor but to accompany her to her room that night. 

It was the room Essie had always occupied on her visits 
to the Oaks, — a cosey little bedroom called the octagon,” 
that was stuck on to the extremity of the left wing. 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


213 


IMrs. Somers conducted Miss Brandon thither in state. 
Then slie must go in and see that Essie’s tire burned satis- 
factorily. Tell me, my dear child, where that exquisite 
voice of yours was cultivated,” 

The question was an apt one, coming so closel}^ on the 
singing Esther had been giving them, carelessly put ; 
the answer to which did not seem to interest Mrs. 
Somers half so much as the re-adjustment of some sticks 
of wood, that had burned in two, and fallen apart over 
the andirons. 

“ At a Madame Celestine’s,” answered Essie in her 
touch-me-not voice; for she always winced when any one 
grew inquisitive about her past. 

“•Madame Celestine’s. Ah ! her school is in New York, 
I believe ? ” 

“ No : in Pennsylvania.” 

“ They certainly understood musical instruction there. 
Your voice has been cultivated with care.” 

“ Madame was a most conscientious teacher.” 

“ So I should judge. Is her school a large one, a promis- 
cuous one?” 

“ She is very particular about whom she admits.” 

“ Just so. That will suit exactly,” said Mrs. Somers 
musingly. “ I have had an object, my dear Miss Brandon, 
in making such minute inquiries about this school. I have 
an intimate friend, who is foolish enough to trust very 
much to my judgment in various matters, because I have 
knocked around a good deal in the world, I suppose ; and 
she has been importuning me to help her decide upon a 
school for her daughter, a girl of fifteen, who, like yourself, 
is gifted with a glorious voice. As I think Madame Celes- 
tine could not have a more glowing advertisement than 
your singing, I am going to ask you to give me her full 
address for the benefit of my friend.” 

Not dreaming that the intimate friend and the gifted 
daughter were mythical personages, who would appear, as 
the play-bills have it, for that occasion only, Esther 
promptly gave the required address, ^ “ Madame Celestine, 
County, Penn.” 

“Thank you ! You have enabled me to help my foolish 
friend to a decision.” 

A little more talk about nothing; and, with a cordial 


214 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


good-iiigiit, Mrs. Somers swept from the octagon, leaving 
her guest to lier repose. 

After her departure, Essie seated herself before the lire, 
and began leisurely unbraiding her long hair ; when a gentle 
tap announced another visitor, and IMiss Cally, resplendent 
in a red flannel wrapj^er, trotted briskly in. 

Dear heart, I am glad to find you are not undressed j^^et. 
As I was wandering around, seeing that there was nothing 
left in the galleries for the dogs to chew to pieces (for, 
since that boy Fred has come home, the dogs are about to 
take the place), I found the window-sashes belonging to the 
window just behind your bed quietly leaning ujd against the 
side of the house. They were taken out to be washed this 
morning; and Madame Lid}'" got sick, as she always does 
if you give her a little extra work to do ; and I suppose the 
boy that made the fire in here didn’t notice for the heavy cur- 
tain. But, if you’d gone to bed in that bed, you’d have died 
of pneumonia long before morning. It was a providential 
inspiration that sent me out on the galleries to-night.” 

“ I assure you I haven’t felt the least draught. I don’t 
suppose, with the blinds closed, and that heavy curtain down, 
it could possibly hurt me. I am not at all subject to pneu- 
monia. Never had it in my life.” 

“ Good and sufficient reasons why j^ou never should have 
it. I’ve come in to move you into another room, my dear. 
^An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure:’ tliat’s 
m}^ philosophy.” 

And Miss Cally peremptorily bustled Essie from the 
little octagon, through the silent halls, into a large front- 
chamber, that looked very gloomy and very stately after the 
cheery little apartment she ha<l just vacated. 

“ You won’t be afraid to sleep in here by yourself, will 
you, dear ? ” 

“ Of course not,” replied Essie deceitfully. 

“ It is rather cut off from the rest of the house ; but 
loneliness is better than pneumonia. If you smell smoke 
very early in the morning, you needn’t trouble yourself to 
scream ‘ Ihre ! ’ Fred’s smoking-room is just the other side 
of that door ; and he generally begins the day by a thorough 
fumigation of himself and his surroundings. He’s a terri- 
ble boy. A body might as well have a regiment of soldiers 
quartered in the house, what with his smoke, and his guns 
124 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


215 


and things. But I know you wish Ikl take myself and my 
long tongue to bed. So good-night, dear child ! Be sure and 
name the bed-posts ; ” with which final injunction the red 
flannel wrapper flitted through the heavy oak door, leaving 
Essie alone in the gloom of the strange room. 

It was not long before she had turned out her lamp, and 
settled herself to sleep. 

And, while she slept, Estella Somers was inditing the 
following letter to Madame Celestiiie, — a letter which was 
despatched by an early messenger next morning : — 

“ If Madame Celestine would do a great kindness to her 
former pupil, Miss Esther Brandon, she will write full par- 
ticulars of her early life, beginning with the time and man- 
ner at which she was placed under madame’s care, up to the 
hour of her leaving it, to the following address. The 
writer believes herself to be in possession of knowledge that 
will secure a large fortune to Miss Brandon, should the 
answer to this place at rest certain doubts as to the young 
lady’s identity. 

It was a random shot ; but 

“ Full many a shaft at random sent 
Finds mark the archer little meant.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. . 


AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION. 

No uncanny visitors, habitants of this world or of the 
other, disturbed the profound slumber into which Essie fell 
soon after bidding Miss Cally an affectionate good-night. 
She slept on dreamlessly and peacefully till the sunlight 
peeped through the blinds and accused her of sloth. 

It was reserved for her hostess to introduce the element 
of disquiet into this new day. There was no inducement 
for early rising at the Oaks. Breakfast was always served 
with aristocratic tardiness ; and Nature, at this season of the 
year, was not charming enough to lure one from a comforta- 
ble bed. 

So, in luxurious laziness, Essie lay wide awake in the 
stately old four-poster, under its rich canopy of quilted silk, 
that was brought to a focus, and pinned with a golden star j 
speculating in an idle sort of way over the handsome silk 
patchwork quilt under which she had slumbered, weaving a 
romance about each gay shred of silk, until her vivid fancy 
had peopled Mrs. Somers’s state spare-room with a goodly 
company from the land of shadows. 

From an inch square of rich old brocade she had ‘just 
completed a magnificent dinner-costume for a gentle ladye 
of goode degree,” and was just about to pin the w'edding 
marabout into her powdered tresses, when she was brought 
back from romance to reality by sounds that gave unmis- 
takable evidence of masculine occupancy of the adjoining 
room ; a wide crack below the connecting door, and a loose 
transom above it, giving free ingress to the slightest noise. 

216 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


217 


An outer door was opened and closed again with that 
reckless expenditure of physical force which is a sheer 
waste of energ}’-, hut has a sort of masterful sound about 
it that pleases the strong sex, I suppose, else they would 
try to be more tender of feminine nerves. Some fresh logs of 
wood were flung at the fire, judging from the way they clat- 
tered down upon the andirons ; a peremptory “ Down, sir ! ” 
gave evidence that Mr. Fred Somers’s chosen companion was 
with him ; and presently a contented whistle, followed soon 
after by fragrant silence, indicated the fact that the heir of 
the Oaks was enjoying his ante-breakfast Havana, during 
which time it was his wont to despatch all his intellectual 
duties for the day by reading a paragraph or two in ''‘The 
Complete Sportsman,” skimming over “ The Spirit of the 
Times,” or giving Don Juan, the noble pointer that fol- 
lowed him like a shadow, his morning’s lesson in field- 
tactics. 

Presently the outer door opened again, but was closed, 
this time, with a gentle quietness that bespoke a feminine 
touch and a lady-like. 

“ Halloo ! What’s- got the handsome mother out of bed at 
such an unusual hour ? ” was Mr. Somers’s greeting to the 
new-comer, who stooped and kissed his broad white forehead 
before answering. 

“ I slept wretchedly last night ; and it was a relief to 
escape from my bed.” 

“ Hot sick, I hope, belle mere. You do look knocked 
up this morning. Take this chair: it’s a long shot the 
most comfortable in my den.” And, with affectionate solici- 
tude, Estella’s son ensconsed her in a big leathern arm- 
chair. 

“ Your ‘ den,’ as you call it, son, looks too dangerously 
comfortable.” 

“Rather a queer combination of adjectives, if they are 
adjectives. Grammar never was my forte, nor any thing 
else in the book way, I am afraid. But where’s the 
danger ? ” 

“ Your snuggery looks too much like contented bache- 
lordom.” 

“ And the danger lies in the content ? ” asked Fred with 
a light laugh. 

“ Ho : in the bachelordom.” 


218 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


“ Then put your maternal heart at rest, handsome moth- 
er. If that is the most substantial hug-a-boo you can scare 
up, you had better retire from business. You are too young 
and handsome yet yourself to want to be made to look old 
by a young and handsome daughter-in-law.’’ 

I hope my son does not think me capable of such self- 
ish frivolity as to allow such a consideration to weigh for a 
moment against his happiness.” And Estella Somers’s voice 
was full of the tenderest reproach. 

Your son does not think you capable of any conduct 
that would be unbecoming the Virgin Mary herself,” was 
the enthusiastical, reverential reply. 

Bless you, my boy, liiy darling son ! who so exalts his 
mother, not from her own merits, but from his own pure 
soul. But I did not pay you this visit to speak of myself, nor 
to coax pretty compliments from you. I want to talk about 
your own affairs.” 

All right, belle mere. What subject dealing exclusively 
with my own good-for-nothing self shall we enlarge upon ? 
Shirt-buttons, dogs, guns, or horses ? I think the first-men- 
tioned is about the only one you are prepared to discuss 
knowingly.” 

“ Suppose we return to my young and handsome daugh- 
ter-in-law that is to be.” 

^‘All right. Matrimony in the prospective, then, let 
it be. Shall I describe her to you?” 

“ Your ideal wife ? ” 

My real wife that is to be.” 

“ Yes, go on. I am all interest and attention.” . 

“ She is about the size of — well, not to be too particular 
about inches, say of an overgrown doll, plump as a par- 
tridge, merry as a cricket, eyes and hair brimful of sunshine, 
mouth looking all the time as if it were about to ripple out 
into smiles, hands ” — 

“Fred, you are describing Mira Walworth,” interrupted 
]iis mother. 

“I am trying to,” answered the young man; “but a 
doused poor fist I make at it. Might as well try to describe 
the glory of the angels, the sweetness of the flowers, the 
brightness of the firmament, or any thing else that masters 
the senses, but defies the tongue,” was his lover-like .pero- 
ration. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


219 


My son, you are not engaged to Miss Walworth ? ” 

Mr. Frederic Somers’s powers of discernment were not 
acute enough to detect the anxiety conv-eyed in the tones 
of his mother’s voice. It was only a question to him, and 
one which he answered with energetic honesty. 

No, by George ! But it’s not my fault that I’m not. I 
tried to get the little thing to give me an up-and-down 
‘ Yes ’ or ‘ No ’ before we parted in Europe ; but, every lime 
I edged up to the subject in a business-like way, she would 
look volumes of reproach at me from those sweet eyes of 
hers, and ask me how I could think so poorly of her as to 
believe her capable of listening to such talk when her pre- 
cious mother was just fading from the face of the earth. 
Then I’d feel uncommonly like a great brute, and would 
tell her as much: whereupon she would look sweeter than 
ever at me, and vow I wasn’t a brute, but just the dearest 
and best friend she had, and all she asked of me was pa- 
tience and constancy. So I’m being patient and constant ; 
and, after the regulation-time has expired, I’m going for the 
little darling, and bring you all a sunbeam into this grim 
old house, that will make the shadows fly for very shame.” 

But this prospect did not seem to elate Mrs. Somers to 
the degree it did her infatuated son ; for Mr. Somers was in 
love, and Mrs. Somers wasn’t. He was not engaged, though : 
there was comfort in that. In Europe, the pretty daughter 
of wealthy Philip Walworth had seemed a very desirable 
parti for her handsome son. Now she had other views for 
liim. By Ins marriage with Esther Brandon, should she 
prove to be Boger Etheridge’s daughter, one more head 
would be cut from the hydra Remorse. Until she was fully 
satisfied on this matter, Frederic should marry no one. 

Her present object was to pave the way for tlie transfer of 
his affections from Miss AValworth to Esther Brandon. She 
apprehended no great amount of difficulty in this ; for was 
not her influence over her boy boundless ? Perhaps. But 
tlie little blind god wields an influence more potent than 
thine, proud mother ! 

Miss Walworth is undoubtedly a very attractive girl ; 
but,” she said presently in a musing, sort of voice. 

“ But v\diat ? ” asked Frederic in quick, impatient tones. 

“ I would not willingly sow the seeds of doubt in your 
ardent young soul, my precious son ; but do not be too sure 


220 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


of finding her as much in earnest about this thing as 
yourself.” 

‘‘Mother, wha1> right have you to speak so of her?” 
the young man asked with impetuous passion. 

“ The right given me by a thorough knowledge of my 
own sex, — a sex in which, alas ! constancy is sadly rare.” 

“I would stake my life on Mira Walworth’s truth and 
constancy ! ” cried Mira’s lover. “ It is-^cruel of you, mother, 
cruel, to slander my darling behind her back.” 

“ Foolish boy ! ” said Estella in a soothing voice. “ Who 
is slandering your darling ? She has never promised to 
many you ; has she ? She has never told you that she loves 
you ; has she ? So where would be the breach of truth or 
honor, if, since you and she have parted, she should have 
met some one she liked better, and have promised to marry 
him ? ” 

The quick passion in the youth’s voice was replaced by 
sorrowful despondency. 

“ Is that the way with women ? Do they look one thing, 
and do another ? For surely, if ever a modest woman’s 
eyes acknowledged the tale she would not consent for her 
lips to tell, her eyes have told me that she loved me.” 

“ A woman’s eyes ! My precious boy, learn to place your 
trust in something more worthy of it. Don’t you know it 
is a prerogative of the sex, and one of which pretty young 
girls are only too fond of availing themselves, to deceive 
too ardent youths through that very medium ? They can do 
it with impunity, you know. A word once spoken can never 
be recalled ; but who can be held responsible for what the 
eye says ? ” 

“ Maybe you’re right, mother,” answered Frederic Somers 
simply. “ You know more about women than I do. But 
I’ve judged them all by my mother. Maybe that’s not 
always a safe plan. But until I go to Mira Walworth, and 
ask her the plain question, if she loves me, and get from 
the lips I love so well a plain dismissal, I .won’t doubt her, 
nor despair. Maybe you’ve read her truer than I have. 
But I want to believe in her ; and, by Heaven ! I will, until 
she breaks my faith by act of her own.” 

“As you will, Frederic,” answered his mother coolly; 
“ but Miss Walworth, who is rather commonplace, in spite 
of her pretty face, is certainly not the woman I should have 
thought likely to inspire my son with a grande passion.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


221 


“ Commonplace ! ’’ retorted her son angrily. Maybe that 
is what women would ca,ll her ; but she suits me to a dot. 
And what in the devil am I, that I should expect to mate 
with perfection ? ” 

“ Frederic ! 

Mrs. Somers had deliberately goaded her hot-souled son 
into a frenzj^, and then signified her indignant surprise at 
the result by uttering his name in a lively crescendo. 

Beg your pardon, mother, for forgetting myself ; but 
I’d have to be a confounded duffer to sit by quietly, and 
hear the woman I’m in love with sliced into shreds, and 
sewed up with red-pepper sauce.” 

You’re a red-pepper goose ! ” said Estella, desirous of 
jesting the black cloud from her boy’s handsome face. 
“ Pretty Mira Walworth has no v/armer admirer than I am, 
saving your own spooney presence. I was only general- 
izing about possibilities, to prepare you for any disappoint- 
ments that might be in store for you.” 

“Well, don’t generalize any more then, please. It makes 
a fellow uncomfortable.” 

“ Suppose we try neutral ground. What do you think 
of Miss Brandon’s singing ? ” 

Divine ! ” was the laconic rejoinder ; for, as Mr. Somers 
was not in love with Miss Brandon, it was not necessary to 
be expansive about her. 

“ She is a remarkably handsome girl.” 

“ Superb ! ” acquiesced Fred cordially. 

“ That is decidedly higher praise than I ever heard you 
bestow upon any other woman.” 

“ Is it ? She deserves it, though.” 

“ Then she is so gentle and dignified and lady-like ! ” 

“ She is so,” responded her son cheerfully. 

“ She is altogether the most superior girl of. hei* age I 
ever came in contact with.” 

“ She looks it every bit.” 

“If I were a young man, I think I should find her irre- 
sistible.” 

“ Under altered circumstances, I might indorse that too.” 

“You egotistical boy ! Can’t I praise a handsome girl 
without danger of your thinking I am throwing her at your 
head ? ” 

“Oh!” said Fred innocently. “I’m glad you’re not 


222 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


throwing her at my head ; for I’d be under the painful ne- 
cessity of throwing her back.” 

“There! — that is the breakfast-bell! IVe wasted two 
hours on you. You’re not w'orth it.” 

“ Hold on, belle mere : waste another five minutes. I 
think your cat has peeped out of the bag. Half a dozen 
words ]iow may save us both a deal of trouble hereafter. 
If your object in being so particularly interested in Mr. 
Golding’s handsome governess is the hope of ever seeing me 
married to her, put that hope away from you with as little 
delay as possible. Critically speaking, I ‘suppose she’s 
handsomer, more intellectual, grander in every way, than my 
little girl up yonder. But then, you see, I love my little 
girl, and I don’t love this very superior young lad3^ In 
fact, I believe, now that I come to think of it, I am opposed, 
on principle, to superior young ladies.” 

With which the outer door closed again, leaving the 
smoking-room vacant ; while on the other side of the treach- 
erous door that liad allowed all this talk to leak through 
into Essie’s tingling ears stood the “superior young lady,” 
striving vainly to establish her title to be so called by try- 
ing to rise superbly indifferent to all that she had heard. 

Was it her fault that they wouldn’t hear the various 
noises she made by waj" of making them aware of her close 
proximity ? She was in a room that had not been occupied 
since the return of the family : so whatever noises ema- 
nated therefrom were accredited to other sources. For how 
could Mrs. Somers possibly guess her presence therein, 
when she had herself seen her to the octagon bedroom the 
night before ? 

With cheeks of a tell-tale crimson, she issued from her 
bedroom to obey the summons of the bell. She met be- 
lated Miss Cally on her road. 

Suppose that lady should make some allusion to her 
ehange of locality? She must be forewarned, else great 
would be the confusion at that breakfast-table. 

“ Wait a minute. Miss Cally: I want to ask a favor of 
you. Please don’t mention the fact of my sleeping in the 
front-room last night. I’ll tell you why after breakfast.” 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed Miss Cally in an awe-stricken 
whisper. “ Did you see it ? ” 

“ Did I see what ? ” asked Essie. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


223 


“ Why, the darkies have always contended that cousin’s 
wife’s ghost haunted that room, which used to he hers. But 
I never believed it before.” 

Esther laughed merrily, but had no time to set ]^[iss 
Cally right, as her hand was on the dining-room door. 

She was glad of this trifling incident ; for it helped her to 
look unembarrassed and unconcerned when she entered into 
the presence of the young gentleman who had been discuss- 
ing her that morning with such charming candor and cool 
insolence. 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

. A RIDE WHICH TERMINATED STRANGELY. 

Mr. Frederic Somers was not a model young man; 
for which let us return thanks : he was simply a hot- 
headed, hot-souled, hot-tempered young Southerner, of medi- 
ocre mental calibre, hut with a heart full of the most gen- 
erous emotions. His raising (if indeed he could be said to 
have had any) had been injudicious and faulty in the ex- 
treme ; notwithstanding which, he seemed to have reached 
majority with pretty correct views on all the cardinal points 
that constitute the gentleman. He was brave to reckless- 
ness; his regard for truth was worthy of George Washing- 
ton and his hatchet; and his reverential respect for woman- 
kind was deserving of praise without stint, taking into 
consideration the fact that he came into this world long after 
the abolition of the complimentary idea that woman “ was 
Heaven’s best gift to man.” As an offset to these desirable 
traits of character, I shall have to acknowledge that he was 
wont to give way to his wrath on very insufficient provoca- 
tion ; upon which occasions his communications were decid- 
edly more energetic and exclamatory than the monotonous 

Yea, yea, and Hay, nay,” so strongly recommended in Holy 
Writ. 

To make a long description short, he was what a good, 
mild young woman would regretfully have pronounced a 
terrible fellow ; ” what a spirited girl would declare su- 
perb, splendid,” &c. . 

Now, as the young man had been rasped by his mother’s 
slighting allusions to his chosen Dulcinea into retaliatory 
224 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


225 


measures, and had spoken somewhat sneeringly of the young 
lady, who, by all the laws of hospitality, was entitled to the 
most respectful consideration, his generous heart smote him 
for his ungenerous conduct, and he strove to make the 
amende honorable by paying Miss Brandon the most assid- 
ous attention during the remainder of her visit. 

^‘Aha,’’ was Estella Somers’s erroneous hut triumphant 
mental conclusion, ‘‘1 have succeeded in directing his at- 
tention to her beauty ! ” 

“ He is brave and generous,” thought Essie more cor- 
rectly, ‘‘ and is sorry for his discourtesy. I like him ; and I 
want him to like me.” 

Great would have been the young man’s regret and 
mortification had he hut known, that, aided by previous 
knowledge of his offence, Miss Brandon was reading his 
motive in this atonement as readily as if it had been 
placed before her actual vision in great-primer type. 

Nothing would appease Mr. Somers’s remorse hut ordering 
his horse when Miss Brandon ordered hers, and declaring 
his intention of seeing their guest home. 

^Ht is entirely unnecessar}^, I assure you,” said Miss 
Brandon on learning his design. In this secluded neigh- 
borhood, there is neither impropriety nor danger in a lady’s 
taking so short a ride alone.” 

Pardon me,” urged the handsome offender in his most 
persuasive voice. I was selfishly considering my own 
pleasure in asking to ride with you, with no thought of 
dangers or improprieties.” 

‘‘ And yet a danger, and a very great one, in my eyes, 
threatens you at this moment.” And Essie looked straight 
into the young man’s fine eyes with her own truth-loving 
ones. 

And that is ? ” 

The danger of becoming insincere.” 

A conscious flush mounted to his broad white forehead ; 
hut Mr. Somers stood his ground manfully. 

“Not knowing upon what Miss Brandon founds her most 
distasteful accusation, I shall have to submit to it in silence. 
But I am not insincere in saying that I am honestly 
desirous of the pleasure of riding home with her. May I 
go? Don’t say ‘No,’ please.” And he suddenly assumed a 
15 


226 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


boyishly pleading attitude, against which Miss Brandon^s 
stately reserve was not proof. 

Yes/^ she replied lightly; and I will leave the task 
of punishing you for your society fibs to your own con- 
science, which I have good reason to believe is tender in the 
extreme.^’ 

Fred’s face grew red again under this second shot ; and 
as he assisted the young lady to mount black Bess, who at 
that moment was led up to the steps, he found himself won- 
dering if the girl was a clairvoyant, or a witch, who had 
been able to divine all that had passed between his mother 
and himself that morning. ^^Else how in the deuse can she 
hit so straight home ? She must be devilish deep, or I must 
be devilish shallow ! ” 

In the minute and a half that it took him to vault into his 
own saddle, Esther had formed a daring resolve. 

She had unwittingly come into possession of this young 
man’s private affairs. She would inform him of the whole 
truth, which would relieve her of a certain unreasonable 
feeling of having been an involuntary eaves-dropper, and at 
the same time afford her an opportunity of lulling to rest 
any suspicions of Mira Walworth’s truth and loyalty that 
his mother’s words might have aroused. 

She would form a pact with this handsome lover of her dear 
old schoolmate, that would place their future intercourse on 
a more desirable footing than it was likely to soon attain 
should he remain under the impression that she was lending 
herself to the furtherance of his mother’s matrimonial 
schemes. 

How to carry this bold plan into execution was a still 
unsolved problem, when the great outside gate to the Oaks 
lawn clanged to behind them. Then a commonplace re- 
mark from Mr. Somers furnished her with a cue. 

Cousin Gaily complains bitterly of your defection from 
the Oaks. Says it used to be another home to you.” 

She is very good to miss me so.” 

I think the old lady considers me and my dogs a poor 
substitute for your society.” 

^Mn which she makes a display of very poor taste,” said 
Miss Esther, with a dash of irony in her voice. 

I begin to be afraid you are sarcastic,” answered Mr. 
Somers. For God’s sake, spare me, if you are. Of all 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


221 


perfectly helpless, perfectly powerless, utterly crushed and 
spiritless creatures conceivable, the worst is your escort in 
the presence of a sarcastic woman/’ 

We can’t all be Mira Walworths,” she replied teasing- 
ly ; “ nor can we he all Miss Callys, — dear little woman ! a 
most superior woman in every respect ; and, as I am not op- 
posed on principle to ^ superior women,’ I do love her dearly.” 

“ The devil’s to pay ! ” thought poor Fred as he turned full 
upon Esther Brandon his handsome face ablaze with crim- 
son mortification, wanting to say something, but helplessly 
unable to decide what. He looked so handsome and so 
crestfallen and so deprecating, that Essie’s heart smote her 
for the pain she had infiicted. 

Forgive me, and let us be friends,” she said, extending 
her little gauntleted hand across to him. 

“ Hang me if I know what I have to forgive ! ” said her 
escort in honest perplexity. 

I had no right to tease you so. I have a confession to 
make. Last night, owing to the absence of the window-sash 
in the room I usually occupy. Miss Gaily installed me in the . 
room adjoining your private sitting-room. I tried effectual- 
ly to notify two occupants of that room this morning of 
my close proximity. I let the tongs fall on the hearth ; I 
stirred my fire in the most energetic fashion ; I splashed 
the water from my pitcher into my basin with a most bois- 
terous manner : but you wouldn’t hear me ; and you just 
would go on until you had informed me that you were in 
love with the dearest, sweetest schoolmate I ever had, and 
that you didn’t have much opinion of me, her most ardent 
admirer and stanchest friend. But, if you will just try to 
like me a little bit. I’ll try very hard to be as inferior as pos- 
sible.” 

Luckless Fred ! He was in doubt whether to swear, or to 
laugh ; whether to hide his head in shame, or hold out his 
hand to this candid young lady, and beg her pardon. He 
concluded to do the latter. 

“ If you don’t despise me for a confounded cowardly 
backbiter, I should like to shake hands with you. Miss 
Brandon.” 

With frank cordiality Essie once more extended her 
hand, saying, — . 

Indeed, I think you nothing of the kind. I only won- 


228 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


der, that, under the exasperation of hearing Mira Walworth 
accused of lack of truth and constancy, you did not launch 
out, after the manner of your superlatively just sex, into 
wholesale abuse of us women/’ 

Quick to apologize for the mother he adored, Fred said 
promptly, — 

Mother does not know her as well as I do.” 

“ Nor as well as I do.” 

“ She is an angel ; isn’t she ? ” 

‘‘No; but she is something more desirable: she is a 
sweet, true woman, who will be a blessing to the man she 
marries.” 

“And by Jove you are a trump ! ” cried Fred enthusias- 
tically, forming a mutual-admiration society on the spot by 
way of testifying to his eternal gratitude for this unadul- 
terated praise of his darling. 

“ Thank you ! ” said Essie demurely. “ Of the two, I 
believe I prefer being a ‘ very superior woman.’ ” 

“ Say that you forgive me, and that you don’t despise 
me.” 

“ I don’t despise you, and I do forgive you. There, now : 
will that do ? I think, now that I have convinced you I am 
not a bit more in love with you than you are with me, we 
shall be the best of friends.” 

“ Your hand on it ! ” 

Ungloving, by way of sealing this compact of good fel- 
lowship more impressively, she placed her delicate white 
hand within her new friend’s. With old-time courtesy, the 
young man lightly touched his bearded lips to its soft white 
surface. As he dropped it, the two riders became conscious 
of a third presence. 

From a sharp bend in the road had emerged with star- 
tling suddenness a spurred and booted horseman. The 
handsome horse that he bestrode gave unmistakable evi- 
dence of great fatigue. His silky coat was flecked with 
moisture ; his proud head drooped dejectedly ; and one foot 
was dragged after the other as if the effort were almost too 
much for equine fortitude. His rider looked hardly less 
travel-worn. His dress was careless ; his gray felt hat was 
slouched over one ear with utter disregard to elegance or 
becomingness ; while the boots, within whose tops his gray 
pants were stuffed for protection, bore road-marks upon 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


229 


every inch of them. A heavy heard and mustache clothed 
the lower part of his face. As he came in sight of Esther 
and her escort just in time to he an unobserved witness of 
the kiss Ered had imprinted upon her pretty hand, he mut- 
tered a sneering comment : — 

Two spooney simpletons, who fancy themselves desper- 
ately in love ! But, as he neared them, frenzied anger and 
wild jealousy chased the sneering devil from his eyes. 
Three years had not changed the lineaments engraven in- 
effaceably on his heart. Whence or how she came there he 
could not guess : but advancing toward him with cool 
unconsciousness was Esther Brandon, the one love of his 
life ; and the man who had just given her that lover-like 
caress was his friend, the avowed lover of his sister. ‘‘ Beau- 
tiful serpent ! lying hypocrite.’’ He included them both in 
the anathema he almost hurled aloud at the advancing 
figures. 

With simple curiosity, Esther glanced at the travel- 
stained, bearded horseman coming toward her ; hut a 
sudden ejaculation from her companion startled the blood 
from her cheeks, and made her sway helplessly in her 
saddle. 

Alfred Walworth, by the gods !” cried Fred. 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 

FACE TO FACE. 

“ Is it death ? ” 

“ No : it is a swoon.’’ 

It was Frederic Somers who asked the question, in a 
frightened voice, of Alfred Walworth, as he crouched upon 
the roadside, tenderly supporting the form of the uncon- 
scious girl. 

White, lifeless, pathetically beautiful in her helplessness, 
lay Esther Brandon, her queenly head pillowed on the heart 
that had once loved her sinlessly, the blue-veined lids mer- 
cifully veiling from her pure eyes the look of passionate 
adoration that burned in Alfred Walworth’s gaze. 

How often had those two, in moments of idle speculation, 
tried to fancy the how, the when, the where, of their possible 
meeting ! How seldom do these soul-speculations ever 
trench upon the probable ! The coming suddenly face to 
face, without a moment’s warning, in a forest-road in far- 
away Louisiana, had not been the suggested theatre for 
the next scene in their life-drama : unconscious helplessness 
had not been Esther’s pre-selected role. 

The meeting him at all had been a dreaded probability 
ever since his purchase of Belton. She had schooled her- 
self into theoretical dignity and calmness ; but theory and 
practice can seldom be made to accord in a woman’s way- 
ward, heart. 

“ What shall we do ? ” asked Mr. Somers, looking down 
in manly helplessness upon the two at his feet. 

In my saddle-bags you will find a flask of brandy ; 

230 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


231 


bring it/’ answered Alfred, without once taking his hun- 
gry eyes from the beautiful face so close to him. He spoke 
in a voice as soft and low as if it were his own little Felix 
asleep in his arms. 

Fred obeyed him with alacrity. A few drops at a time 
they poured through the slightly-parted lips. Presently a 
long, convulsive sigh rewarded their efforts. Then the 
white lids grew tremulous, were feebly raised, and closed 
again. 

“ She is coming to ! — fetch her horse ! ” said Alfred in a 
quicldy peremptory voice. 

Could he share the first look of consciousness from those 
lovely eyes, still so dear, with this other man, her lover 
though he might be ? Surely one stolen moment, full of 
blissful joy, was but meagre compensation for the suffering 
that was past and the blankness that was ahead. One 
deep burning moment he would have ; one bright second 
she should be all his own. There in his arms he held her: 
her reviving gaze should rest upon his face, and his alone. 

Fortunately for all parties concerned, the horses, which 
had been so unceremoniously deserted by the actors in this 
tableau vivant, were of a most unambitious turn of mind. 
A long and a hard day’s ride naturally inclined Mr. Wal- 
worth’s handsome animal to the conclusion that standing 
still was the best sort of amusement, especially as he was a 
stranger in a strange land, and had no favorite locality to 
tempt him into deserting his master. Mr. Somers was 
riding his hunting-horse, to whom it was no novelty to find 
himself left riderless while his master crept up on the wary 
wild duck or other game : so he quietly grazed around, 
making the best of his freedom. And black Bess, servile 
and imitative after the fashion of her sex, remained quiet 
because the others did, just straying a little way off to feed 
on the long gray moss that festooned the trees by the road- 
side. After her Mr. Somers went, as requested. 

Again the waxen lids were upraised, strongly and fully 
this time. One startled, upward look was flashed into 
Alfred Walworth’s waiting eyes ; and then, with the speed 
of a frightened fawn, Esther Brandon sprang to her feet, 
and stood white and trembling before her old-time lover. 

Alfred ! In your arms ! Where am I ? Why could J 
not have been strong ? Mr. Somers — where is he ? ” 


232 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Confusedly, disconnectedly, the words fluttered over her 
trembling lips. She was conscious of but one desire, — to 
speed away from the presence that had once made the sun- 
light of her heart. 

She had spurned him from her in the very first moment 
of full consciousness. The look of loving recognition he 
had passionately longed for had not been granted. The 
old tenderness that the sight of her had brought welling 
up in his heart went surging hack, submerged under a 
scorching lava-stream of wrath and bitterness as he looked 
upon this flashing woman, standing majestically aloof from 
him, a superb incarnation of outraged dignity and exalted 
womanhood. 

Where are you ? ” He repeated her words in a low, pas- 
sion-laden voice as he confronted her with a mien as proud 
and defiant as her own. “ You are face to face, at last, with 
the man whose honest love you repaid with treachery and 
desertion three centuries ago, if time were to be counted 
by my weary heart-beats.’’ 

^‘Was the treachery mine, Alfred Walworth?” 

Yes, by Heaven it was ! for, had you loved me with a 
tithe of the mad passion I’ve wasted on you, ten thousand 
fathers could not have kept us asunder.” 

Hush ! You are blind ; you are ignorant. I alone know 
the horrible truth ” (a shudder convulsed the girl’s stately 
form) ; and, in the light of that truth, this talk of love 
between you and me — a dead love though it be — is 
monstrous ! ” 

“ A dead love ! No, by all that’s enduring ! But see ! 
here comes your new lover to snatch you from me. May 
your next favor be bestowed upon him beyond the reach of 
my tortured vision ! ” 

Had Esther designed an answer in words, there would 
have been no opportunity to deliver it ; for Mr. Somers was 
close to them now, calling out, in his cheery, boisterous 
voice, — 

All right again. Miss Brandon ! Gad, but you gave 
Alf and myself a scare ! Your gentle black Bess has been 
so considerate as to break your bridle. I believe I’ve 
mended it, though ; so we can reach Golding’s in safety. — 
Now, Walworth, let me introduce you more formally to the 
young lady you so gallantly rescued from what would have 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


233 


been a pretty severe trouble ; while I, like the lout that I 
am, was staring at your unexpected apparition, and lost 
sight of her/’ 

With a sudden impulse of kindliness (for the lines of 
sulfering that seamed and hardened his once frankly-pleas- 
ant face touched her to the heart), Esther held out her 
hand to Mr. Walworth with gentle dignity, and, by a few 
wisely-spoken words, relieved them all from what threatened 
to be an overwhelming embarrassment. 

“ Mr. Walworth and I are already acquainted. We were 
friends in the long-ago ; and I hope we may meet as such 
in the future.” But she did not trust herself to take her 
eyes off Fred’s innocent face while uttering that hope. 

Now, please, let us get on our way again,” she con- 
tinued. “ I feel far from well.” 

It was Alfred Walworth who sprang forward once more, 
and lifted her lightly into the saddle. Then, for a second, 
he held her hand in a fierce grasp. 

Your words mock me. Friends, — never ! ” In another 
moment he had sprung into his own saddle, and disappeared 
like a flash. 

‘‘ Gone,” said Fred regretfully, without giving a fellow 
a chance to ask a single question. But I’ll follow him to 
Belton as soon as I’ve seen you safe home.” 

Essie pleaded physical weakness as excuse for tacitur- 
nity ; and the rest of that ride was accomplished in almost 
unbroken silence. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A FAMILY MAN-. - 

The easy, conversational gait at whicli our two eques- 
trians had been travelling before the interruption described 
in the last chapter was exchanged for a brisk canter, that 
very soon brought them to Locust Grove. Having politely 
bowed Miss Brandon into the house, Mr. Somers hastily 
remounted, and started at a fleet pace for Belton. 

He found its owner moodily crouching over a new-made 
fire in the library. 

And now, old fellow,’^ he exclaimed as he was ushered 
into the room, “ I’ve come to say ^ How do you do ? ’ and bid 
you welcome to our stupid neighborhood ; neither of which 
seemed exactly the thing to do with a fainting woman on 
our hands. By George, though, I am glad to see you ! ” 

Thank you ! Sit down,” was the uneffusive rejoinder, 
vouchsafed in the most ungracious of voices. 

But so void of oftence was Fred’s concience, that he at- 
tributed his friend’s palpable gruffness to fatigue, and the 
general discomfort pervading the house that had been closed 
so long. 

So, seating himself at Mr. Walworth’s curt invitation, he 
persisted in being cheerfully colloquial. 

But what are jmu doing here by yourself?” 

I am seeing that the ’windows in Mrs. Walworth’s 
room are not draughty, that the cow with the youngest 
calf is taken up and stall-fed, and that the sheets are well 
aired,” answered his host with sarcastic readiness. 

Draughty windows, cows and calves, airing sheets,” 
234 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


235 


echoed Fred, extracting the gist of his friend’s voluble reply 
with no very satisfactory result. 

Yes,” explained Mr. Walworth. a family man; 

and the above is but a meagre list of my marital respon- 
sibilities. But you will know how it is yourself before long, 
I presume.” 

“ Gad, I hope so ! exclaimed Fred, honest joy illumi- 
nating his handsome face. 

More fool you ! ” 

“ That does not comes gracefully from you, Alf.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

Has my choice been the choice of a fool ? 

“Ho; oh, no! It is a wise choice, an exceeding wise 
choice, — one of which I wish you joy.” He spoke in a 
voice of suppressed passion ; and the glance that he cast 
at the young man opposite him was full of wrath. 

“How you’re talking like a man; for you know her, 
I guess, if anybody does.” 

'“ Yes : I know her.” 

“And love her, I suppose, well enough to desire her best 
happiness ? ” It was put interrogatively, in the pleasantest 
of voices; but it seemed to- arouse his friend to the highest 
pitch of frenzy. Had she entertained this new lover with 
their old love-tale ? It was a wild, foolish conjecture ; but 
that remembered caress goaded him almost beyond endur- 
ance. It was with a mighty effort that he controlled the 
wild words that rushed to his lips, substituting irony for 
bitterness. 

“ Excuse me, Somers, if I beg you to select some subject 
of more general interest. I am afraid I am past the age 
when I can help a spooney young fellow to gush.” It was 
said very coldly, very sneeringly. 

“ You are uncommonly unsatisfactory is all I have to 
say. Miss Brandon’s worth forty of you when a fellow 
does want to gush.” 

I make no manner of doubt of that.” 

“ She helps a fellow along, and says sweet things her- 
self.” 

“ And lets a fellow kiss her hand so accommodatingly ! ” 
sneered Alfred. 

“Did you see that too?” answered Fred in the airiest 
possible manner. “ You would have kissed it too if you’d 
heard what she said just before that. I said ” — 


236 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


“Curse wliat you said! ” And Mr. Walworth bestowed 
a fierce kick on the sulky wood-fire with such intense feel- 
ing, that nothing but a log of wood could have quietly 
endured it. 

“ Don’t get savage, old fellow : it will burn presently. 
Well, then, she said that your sister, Mira Walworth, was 
the truest, sweetest woman that God ever made, and that 
she would be a blessing to any man. And, now, could I help 
kissing her hand in gratitude? — a handsome hand it is 
too, by the way.” 

A wonderful change flashed over Alfred Walworth’s face. 
Had he been mistaken ? He would know. 

“ Then you are not her lover ? ” 

“ Whose lover ? ” 

“ Miss Brandon’s.” 

“ Do you take me for a scoundrel, sir ? ” demanded Fred, 
growing fierce in his turn. 

“ I see no question of scoundrelism.” 

Have I, or have I not, given your sister reason to believe 
that I loved her ? ” 

“ I believe you did about a year back.” 

“Was there anything besides her own filial devotion 
that sealed my lips ? ” 

“I really can’t say, my dear boy,” answered his host, 
growing affably cool as Fred heated up. 

“Well, then, I don’t know of any thing in my general 
character or previous conduct that should warrant your 
unjust aspersions. I suppose that accounts for your unusual 
huffiness 1 ” 

“ I suppose it does,” said Alfred, willing enough for this 
plausible covering for his crabbed discourtesy. 

“You were jealous for the dear little girl up yonder.” 

“ Maybe I was.” 

“Shake hands, Alf. I like you forty thousand times 
better than I did when I came into this room.” 

“ Thanks I take a cigar.” 

“By way of calumet,” said Fred as he accepted the 
proffered weed. 

Muse of Miss Braddon, help me ! I know, if your 
romantic pen had the handling of two handsome women, 
rivals irj. the affections of one handsome • man, you woidd 


AGAINST TIM WORLD, 


237 


hurl them into each other’s presence, eyes in a fine frenzy 
rolling,” hearts full of murderous hate, ready for treason, 
stratagem, or spoil, with, maybe, a pretty little jewelled 
stiletto hidden snugly away in case of emergency ; but 
my handsome rivals were destined to come across each 
other’s paths in the most provokingly humdrum fashion, 
just like real folks in real life. 

Mr. Walworth had selected a season of the year for his 
removal to his plantation when the navigation of Le bToir 
was tedious and uncertain. So, as his own riding-horse 
and his wife’s carriage and horses constituted part of their 
baggage, the last day or two’s travel was performed by 
land. 

The first day’s journey was accomplished without ac- 
cident or incident : the second brought them about noon 
within sight of the Locust-Grove houses, with every pros- 
pect of making Belton in time for dinner, when an ago- 
nized scream from the interior of the carriage brought Mr. 
Walworth, who was riding leisurely in the rear, galloping 
up to the side of the vehicle. 

. There in the nurse’s arms, while his frantic mother bent 
over him wild with anguish, lay little Felix in convulsions. 

“ I knew it, I knew it ! I said this hateful travelling 
would kill my darling!” cried Maggie as her husband’s 
face appeared at the window. 

“ Drive up to that house ! ” was the quickly imperative 
command of the young man to the coachman ; while he 
dashed ahead to make known their extremity. 

By the time the carriage reached the gate of hospitable 
Locust Grove, sympathetic and motherly Mrs. Golding 
stood upon the steps ready to receive and aid her new 
neighbors thus startlingly introduced to her. 

The convulsion, one of the commonest ills that baby- 
flesh is heir to, soon yielded to her skilful ministrations ; 
and, in less than an hour, frightened Maggie had the satis- 
faction of seeing her darling sink peacefully to sleep upon 
her bosom. 

But it was Mrs. Golding’s thoughtfulness that had sent 
Alfred on his way alone. 

She declared to him that it would be the height of im- 
prudence to take that fragile-looking little woman and a 
young infant into a cold, damp house, that hadn’t seen 


238 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


a fire for a year ; and made them feel so heartily welcome 
in her own cheerful home, that Mr. Walworth, yielding 
to her solicitations and Maggie’s fears, consented to precede 
his family to Belton by a night. 

Thus it came about, that when Esther reached home, 
and entered the family sitting-room en route for her own 
apartment, she found herself suddenly in the presence 
of a diminutive little lady, with a childishly pretty 
face, dressed in a rich travelling-costume, whom Mrs. 
Golding introduced to her as their new neighbor, Mrs. 
Walworth. 

Only a slight addition of pallor, and the faintest tremor in 
her soft, sweet voice, betrayed the internal agitation pro- 
duced by this second rencounter, as Miss Brandon politely 
acknowledged the acquaintance of Mrs. Walworth: then, 
pleading serious indisposition, she passed on to her own 
room, and was seen no more that evening.* 

In the solitude of the little room that had grown so famil- 
iar with her soul-battles, long and fiercely did Esther Bran- 
don wrestle that night with the spirits of darkness that 
swarmed around her, taunting her with this woman’s happi- 
ness, her own loneliness, with the suspicion of black 
treachery she was compelled to bear to shield a father from 
the curses of his only son, with the poverty that bound her 
captive in this spot that was no longer a refuge and asylum, 
with the persecuting fate that had brought Alfred Walworth 
once more across her path, reviving old feelings, ‘re-opening 
old wounds, tempting her anew to curse the day in which 
she first saw the light. 

Long and fiercely did she wrestle, — wrestled and con- 
quered. Then was she mightier than he that taketh a 
city ; for she had conquered her own soul. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


CONTAINS A LOVE-LETTER. 

Slowly and quietly enough did life drag along in the old 
stone mansion in Chester, whose sole occupants now were 
Philip Walworth and his daughter Mira. 

A great change had come over this man, whom the world 
held to be without fear and without reproach, since he had 
lost his good angel, — the wife who had been his guide, coun- 
sellor, and friend for more than a quarter of a century of 
such placid companionship as rarely falls to the lot of the 
yoked. 

His wife Mira had been his inspiration ; the instigator of 
every good, generous, or noble act of his married life. To 
his desire to be exalted in her dear eyes was added a vague 
sort of feeling that he could atone to the world at large for 
the foul wrong done to one frail human atom. So his course 
since his union with Almira Stanley had been a uniform one 
of open-handed generosity, courtesy, and universal charity ; 
and his reward had come to him in the shape of universal 
homage and profound respect from his fellow-men. 

And was he happy ? I doubt it. 

Now that the beloved companionship that had filled the 
days of his life so full of placid enjoyment was dissolved, the 
past proved mightier than the present, and drew him back- 
ward on its strong current with a force he could not resist ; 
for she was in the past, too, now, — the wife he had loved so 
well. But memory did not stop at the contemplation of her 
gentle beauty, her spotless life : it hurried past those green 
spots into a long-buried past, when he was what the charita- 

239 


240 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


ble world would call in his wild-oats age/^ and with tor- 
turing vividness brought back haunting ghosts that made 
his days days of weariness, his nights periods of wretchedness 
indeed. 

In that long-ago he saw a fair-browed, loving-hearted 
girl, an orphan, dependent upon the charity of his own 
proud mother, wooed, won, betrayed, deserted, by a man 
whom the w^orld bowed down to as the soul of honor ; saw a 
crushed and almost dying woman pleading for a father’s care 
for the child still unborn, — pleading to a man for whom a 
pure bride was then waiting, pure as the new-fallen snow ; 
saw a stately, fair-browed girl standing before the altar with 
his own idolized first-born, from whose young lips his own 
hand must needs dash the brimming cup of happiness, and 
send the innocent out into a friendless world to suffer for 
the sins of the father ; saw the boyish adoration that his 
only son had been wont to lavish upon him turn to dark 
distrust and sullen disrespect ; saw it, and suffered for it ; 
brooded over it, and over the probable punishment in store 
for his guilty soul, until the desire to bribe Heaven’s mercy 
by tardy atonement grew and took entire possession of his 
soul. 

What atonement could he make but the meagre one of 
acknowledging that third child, and lifting her from her 
life of drudgery to one of elegant leisure ? — not publicly ; for 
that would no more benefit her than leaving her in her 
present obscurity. 

Part of his punishment should be a full confession to his 
boy Alfred. Alfred was a man, — a man of the world : he 
could understand, and mayhap forgive, that mad weakness 
of the long-ago, — if not forgive, at least condone 5 and with 
him he would leave the task of finding and dowering that 
lonely girl whom he had loved so disastrously. That was 
all he could do. 

All ! — and a most pitiful all it is, too, Philip Walworth, 
when weighed in the balance with a young life spent in 
loneliness and poverty, all the sweetness and brightness 
crushed out of it by your cruel hand. 

This was the plan he had fully determined upon. But 
there was no need for immediate action. It was not a 
pleasant task to humiliate himself before liis son. He would 
put oft’ the evil day. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


241 


Despite his years, he was hale and active in the extreme ; 
rode down town every day to- gather up local items ; gave 
orders to the workmen about his model farm ; j^layed his 
regulation games of cribbage with dutiful Mira, filling the 
hours systematically with regular employment, allowing no 
sign of his inward distress and perturbation to ruffle the 
outside calm of the stately structure that aknost defied Time’s 
defacing touch. 

With Mira, the gentle calmness that distinguished her 
movements was internal as well. With a heart that knew 
no guile, at peace with God and her fellow-men, why should 
she not be calm? True, she was very lonely, now that 
Alfred, between whom and herself the tenderest devotion 
subsisted, had gone away, taking with him her bright-eyed 
pet, baby Felix, and the little sister-in-law, whose very help- 
lessness had endeared her to Mira’s heart. But her life was 
full of duties, — duties performed with cheerful alacrity and 
filial devotion, making her days pass without weariness, if 
without any great joy. And, Uien, had she not a rosy future 
ahead? Was there not a bright bow of promise making 
beautiful the morrow, — a glad promise of great joy to come ? 
Must she needs be impatient because every thing was not in 
her grasp right now ? Ah, no ! she could wait ; she could 
trust him. He was honest and true : her life upon that ! 
He would come in his own good time ; he would love her 
none the less for ranking him beneath her duty. 

So she went about her quiet routine of daily duties with a 
sweetness, cheerfulness, and patience that promised well for 
her future lord’s happiness ; for “ she will do him good, and 
not evil, all the days of her life.” 

Two months had fully elapsed since Alfred’s removal 
South before any letters from him or his wife reached Ches- 
ter. It was utterly impossible for Mr. Walworth and Mira, 
living as they did in a thickly-populated country, wliere the 
postal service was of some importance, to realize how miser- 
ably it was conducted in the obscure locality to which their 
relatives had removed : so they had remained a prey to the 
keenest anxiety. 

Every morning would Mr. Walworth have himself driven 
in to Chester, returning about noon with the never-varying 

Nothing yet, daughter. Be patient.” 

And at last her patience had its reward. 

16 


242 


AGAINST Tin: WORLD. 


Mr. Walworth, returning one day sooner than usual, 
threw into her lap three letters from Louisiana. 

‘‘ At last ! ” she cried, grasping her treasures with eager 
delight, and hastily scanning the superscription of each. 

“ One from Al, one from Maggie, and one — why, who ? 
Then that third letter disappeared mysteriously under Miss 
Walworth’s little silk apron to find a haven of rest in the 
pocket of her dress while she prepared to read aloud the 
two family letters. 

4 hey wore very long and very satisfactory, and very full 
of apologies for tardiness; and, having read and duly can- 
vassed their contents with her lonely father, Mira stammered 
something deceitful about seeing to dinner, and sped away 
to the privacy of her own chamber to devour that third let- 
ter, whose authorship she rather guessed than knew. 

With tremulous fingers did sweet Mira Walworth break 
the seal of the letter, in which patient Fred Somers, with 
infinite difficulty and laudable painstaking, had tried to 
convey to her in language creditable to himself in an intel- 
lectual way, and worthy of her in an angelic way, the new, 
startling, and totally unexpected revelation that he loved 
her. 

It had cost the young man, with whom the gun was far 
mightier than the pen, a good half-hour, and several sheets 
of his mother’s best satin paper brought direct from Paris, 
to decide upon the best style of address. 

“Miss Walworth, honored Miss,” was decidedly too Gran- 
disonian to meet with Fred’s approval, who was rather anti- 
Grandison than otherwise. “Miss Walworth” simply, 
sounded harsh and stern, as if he were about to arraign her 
for some sin of omission or commission. (Bless her pure soul ! 
as if she could commit a sin !) Please accredit Mira’s lover 
with that parenthesis. And yet, if he called her “ Dear Miss 
Walworth,” she might snub him for taking things too much 
for granted. He couldn’t help it : she was dear. So here 
goes : — 

“ Dear Miss Mira, — This sheet of paper looks so cold, 
and ink is such an uncommonly uns^ympathetic sort of fluid, 
with its everlasting black looks, that I’m afraid what I want 
to say to you will reach you in a chilled and meaningless 
fashion, that will but poorly convey one-half I want to say 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


243 


to you ; for, if put on oath as to what I considorod my most 
sliiiiiug acquirement, I couldn’t say letter-writing. 

But I do think, if I were sitting near enougJi to a little 
lady we both know right well to possess myself of one of 
the pink-tinted siiowllakes she calls her liands, 1 would 
hold oil to it until my clumsy tongue could manage to speak 
the words she forbade me to utter a year back. 

“Mira, darling, haven’t I waited long enough? Please 
say ‘ Yes,’ and write to me to come. This is written with 
your brother’s consent and cordial indorsement. A little en- 
couragement from your own sweet lips is all that is wanting 
now to send me spinning from this to Chester, the happiest 
dog in Christendom. 

“ My inclinations would have led me to go on to you in- 
stead of writing; but, little and soft and gentle as you are, 
you have a trick of putting a fellow down, and keeping him 
at your pretty arm’s-length, that isn’t the most comforta- 
ble position for a man who loves you with a love that is 
nonest and true, my darling, and who asks nothing better 
of the Pates than permission to spend his life testifying to 
that fact. So, if there are any more duties that are incom- 
patible with our immediate union, I think I cg-n stand better 
to have you snub me through the post-office than when I’m 
close enough to you to be tempted by jmur sweet face into 
angry expostulations. I think I made it clear to yon, over 
yonder in Europe, that I loved you very dearly ; and now I 
would like to make it equally clear to you that I want you 
for my wife, and that with as little delay as your own kind 
heart will permit. 

“It is not much that I’m offering you, sweet lady, in 
offering you the name and hand of Frederic Somers, who, at 
the best, is but a useless drone, for whose idle existence he 
oftentimes blushes, reaping where others have sowed, own- 
ing the very roof that shelters him to the misfortunes of 
others. But I vapor sometimes about the disgraceful slug- 
gisiiness of my life, and talk of studying for a profession ; 
and then my uncle opposes me, and tells me that his help- 
lessness renders him dependent upon mo for the honest 
administration of his extensive business. I think he does it 
as a sort of salve ; upon which I quiet down, and try to con- 
vince myself that I am of some account in the world by being 
a faithful superintendent of his affairs. A noble occupation. 


244 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


is it not, for a young and lusty man ? But for an enervat- 
ing, slothful, objectless life, commend me to that of a South- 
ern boy with means or with expectations. I believe that’s 
the worst part of me. I’m of no account for any thing in 
particular ; but if you will be content to accept as your 
guide (no, that won’t do ; for you will iiave to do the guid- 
ing, you’re such a deal better than myself), — if you’ll take mo 
for what I’m worth. I’ll be good and true and loving to yon 
until death comes to part us, (which God grant may not be 
until the beautiful brown hair that crowns the head of my 
b(doved is silvered by the hand of Time ! ) till we’ve grown 
old together, Mira darling, in the full happiness of a union 
made in heaven : and then I would be the first to go ; for 
this world would be but a dismal void unbrightened by the 
presence of my most well-beloved Mira. 

And now, dear lady, look not to the manner of this 
writing, but to the matter ; and let your own kind heart dic- 
tate a speedy and favorable response.” 

A queer love-letter ! 

Perhaps. Nor is it likely ever to be admitted into the 
‘^Complete Letter -Writer,” as a model for lovers, who are 
more burdened with emotions than ideas, to copy. 

It was not a model, any more than was the young man 
who wrote it. But Mira Walworth did not view it with a 
critic’s eye : she simply read it with a lover’s interest. 

And who would give a rush for a woman who could criti- 
cise her lover’s letter ? 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


A LIVING DEATH. 

One blissfully long, tantalizingly short hour did the 
young girl indulge herself with, in which to read over, pon- 
der, and decide upon her answer to the rambling but 
none the less comprehensive missive in her hands. 

There was no beloved mother now to counsel and direct her, 
no affectionate sister to sympathize with her in her promised 
happiness. Her father, even, was not what he used to be to 
his children. In late years he was strangely cold and silent. 
She believed she was growing afraid of him. Would he think 
it very unnatural of her to want to marry? Of course, she 
would never leave him : she would convey that determination 
to Mr. Somers in her answer. Ought she to show his letter 
toiler father? Could she do it? Would not the require- 
ments of filial duty be satisfied by informing him of its 
object ? She thought it would. How would her father 
receive it ? Would he be harsh and stern, as some fathers 
seemed to think they must bo when their daughters wanted 
to marry ? How could he be harsh and stern when it was 
him she was going to marry ? Poor father, lonely old man ! 
A thousand husbands should not make her desert him. They 
would all three live together right there, in the old house 
near Chester ; and Ered would fill up ever so nicely the void 
left by Alfred. In sixty minutes the pretty magician has 
arranged their three united lives to her own satisfaction ; at 
the expiration of which time she sprang nimbly up, thrust 
her precious letter back in her pocket, resolutely put from 
her the delicious haze that threatened to envelop her men- 
tally, and returned to the consideration of roast or boiled. 


246 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Dut}'’ was tlie watchword of Mira Walworth’s life; and, 
in this supreme moment, it asserted its supremacy. Father’s 
dinner should not come a moment later because of her love- 
dreams. Fred must yield to fricassee, matrimony to marma- 
lade. The whole long delicious afternoon, the afternoons that 
she used so to dread, was before her for dreaming. Would 
the days ever he too long again ? W ould not each moment he 
so brimful of happiness, that it would fly only too swiftly for 
the fulness of enjoyment? 

0 Love, blessed Love, sanctifying, purifying, exalting 
Lov^e, liow do'St thou gild the bright-winged moments T 
How beautiful does life become under thy magic touch I 
How poor and powerless and mean seem earth’s heaviest 
trials if Love but sustain us through them all ! how sweet 
and light and holy life’s lowliest duty if but performed for 
Love’s dear sake ! The lesson that thou teachest is one soon 
learned by a gentle heart, never forgotten by the female 
heart. 

Mira Walworth knew it very thoroughly, as became the 
pupil of so earnest a teacher as handsome Frederic Somers. 

She peeped shyly into the library as she passed by it 
with her jingling key-basket on her way to prepare her 
father’s favorite desert for dinner, by way of atonement, 
argued the tender little soul, for having lost sight of him for 
ever such a little while. 

She could just see the top of his head as she peeped in. 
He was all riglit, taking his nap nicely : so she closed the 
door with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded about her 
household duties. 

Not more than half an hour was she absent ; then, hastily 
folding away the ample check apron that had eflectually 
guarded her dainty dress from spot or stain while she con- 
cocted the day’s desert, she returned to the library to All up 
the interval before dinner by reading to her father, as was 
her daily custom. 

I staid a disgracefully long time, didn’t I, father dear ? ” 
And, with the brightest of faces, she bent caressingly over the 
back of his chair to kiss his broad white forehead. Then a 
shriek of terror rang out clear and wild upon the atmosphere 
from the girl’s frightened lips. 

With a fierce grip, Philip Walworth’s strong hands had 
clasped the arms of his chair; great swollen veins corded his 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


247 


bloated, purple face ; while over the blackened lips oozed a 
continuous flow of white froth. 

With frenzied haste Mira rang for the servants. They 
came in a body. One she sent dashing off for a phj'-sician ; 
another she despatched for their nearest neighbor : and then, 
returning to her stricken father, the brave girl heroically 
applied herself to wiping the oozing froth from the scorched- 
looking lips. It was all she could do, poor child ! but she 
would not yield to her first cowardly impulse to fly from the 
torture of witnessing the suffering she could not relieve. 

So she stood nohly by her unconscious parent, as he 
writhed ki the agony of an apoplectic-fit, until help came in 
the persons of the family physician, their nearest neighbor, . 
and his wife, — a motherly old lady, who took the shivering 
girl tenderly in her arms, and bore her away to her own 
room, where she promptly administered a powerful opiate, 
considering oblivion the happiest condition for her under the 
circumstances. 

When Mira awoke, some hours later, she found this same 
kind friend sitting by her bedside ; while upon her hearth- 
rug stood the doctor, regarding her with eyes full of pity. 

‘"^He is dead, he is dead ! — and I left him to die alone 
she cried in wildest agony, springing to the floor as she 
spoke. 

He is nothing of the kind, dear child,” answered the 
medical man, hastily coming forward while he spoke, and 
seizing her by both hands to detain her. 

Then why do you look at me so pitifully, as if you were 
all so sorry for me ? ” and the tender eyes upraised to the 
doctor’s were blinded with great tears. 

“ Because, my poor little girl, you will have to make up 
your mind to something worse than death.” 

But there is nothing worse than death ! ” cried Mira, with 
impatient misery in her voice. Tell me the worst at once, 
please : I can bear it. I can bear any thing but to have him 
die.” 

God has seen fit, child, to afflict your father with total 
paralysis of the lower extremities. He may live for years ; 
but it will be a living death. At present, his arms alone re- 
tain any vitality. His tongue is paralyzed ; but that, we hope, 
may be only temporary. I am doing as you asked me, — tell- 
ing you the very worst at once. But I know you to be a brave, 


248 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


good girl ; and I believe God will help you to bear the burden 
of this affliction, which, poor child ! will fall as heavily upon 
you as upon your unfortunate father.” 

Plow can you say so ? ” cried Mira between her gusts of 
passionate sobbing. How can you compare the hardships 
that this will entail upon me with the terrible prison-life 
of a living soul within a dead body ? Father ! — my poor, 
precious father ! — if the untiring devotion of a lifetime, if 
your daughter’s cheerful servitude, can lighten this hard 
visitation from the liand of God, then shall they be yours, 
— gladly, entirely, always yours ! ” 

Tears stood in the physician’s honest eyes as he pressed 
the two little hands he held within his own, and called her 
his little hero. 

“ May I go to him ? ” asked Mira. 

Not now : he sleeps.” 

Then will you and dear Mrs. Weston forgive me if I 
beg to be left alone for a little while ? I will join you, as 
soon as I can, in the sitting-room.” 

Her two friends left her. 

Then, for awhile, the storm of grief raged tempestuously 
within the poor girl’s breast. 

Her first and keenest suffering was pure, unselfish lamen- 
tation for the terrible fate that had descended upon her 
father; and it was in terms of violent reproach that she ac- 
knowledged the presence of another and distinct source of 
suffering. 

Once more must her bright dream of love and happiness 
be put away from her : this time forever ; for she could not 
bid him wait again. Pier life was bound up now in the 
helpless one of her father’s. Frederic’s spring-time of hap- 
piness need not be blighted too. He must give up all 
thoughts of her, and seek happiness with some otlier 
more favored daughter of earth. She would write to him all 
this that very night ; and it was for strength to do it 
without a murmur, even a silent heart-murmur, that she 
went down on her knees, and prayed to God. 

Whether or not her prayer was answered, or whether a 
plaintive heart-murmur did breathe through her letter, in 
spite of her brave resolve, judge for yourself. 

“ Best of Friends, — And such God grant we may both 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


249 


be until time lias silvered both our beads ! But more than 
that it seems his divine will we shall not be. 

“Happiness seems such a far-away, dreamy sort of thing 
to me now, that I can write to you of the happiness you did 
give me, without being over-bold. 

“Your letter, dear Mr. Somers, made me very happy, — 
so happy, that I think, for a little while, I forgot every thing 
in the world but just you and me and our love. 

“I had hoped some day to get just such a letter from 
you; but, when it came, it seemed to bring with it such a 
holy calm, such a blessed assurance that all my future was 
to be one bright, glad day of unspeakable happiness, that I 
think I forgot that there was a God above who works in most 
mysterious ways. 

“ I know, that, if my angel-mother could speak to me to- 
night, she would bid me remember that ‘He doeth all 
things well.^ I will try to think he does. But it is hard, 
my dearest, so hard, to have to give you up entirely ! I say, 
entirely : for I do not love you with a selfish love, dear 
Frederic (my heart shall have full scope for just this once) ; 
and I would not go to your arms, promising to be a help- 
meet to you, when your claims upon me must always rank 
second to my father’s. It has pleased Heaven to visit my 
poor father with a terrible affliction. 

“He is a hopeless paralytic. His heart beats, his brain 
works, his soul suffers, in a dead body. Can you conceive of 
a greater horror ? And can I, his only daughter, think of 
taking upon me new ties, new duties, while he needs me 
so sorely ? Your heart may rebel against my determina- 
tion to cleave unto him, and put from me your own beloved 
self ; but your upright soul will pronounce my decision the 
only one compatible with a daughter’s duty. 

“ If I could have married you, the aim of my life would 
have been to render yours of some value in this world. I 
know too well the temptation to idleness and sloth that a 
well-filled purse is to a young man. But there are avenues 
of usefulness open even to the favored ones of the earth. 
I had my dreams about helping you find these,.dear friend ; 
but it is otherwise ordained. I could not be a help-meet 
now if I were yours. 

“ So long as my father lives, I will never marry. But not 
for a moment would I seek to clog your life with the heavy 
weight that has almost brought mine to a stand-still. 


250 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


“You are young, handsome, attractive. The world is be- 
fore you to choose from. I am not so vain as to think my 
insignificant self can have taken such a hold upon you that 
you will not be able to conquer the disappointment that I 
know I am giving you in this letter : so, in time, you may 
be very happy. God grant that you may be ! 

“ I will not be so insincere as to say I hope it may be 
soon; for I love you, Frederic Somers, dearly enough to 
feel at this moment the most savage jealousy of the woman 
who shall usurp my place in the heart that a cruel decree 
compels me to resign. But in time, maybe (mind, it is only 
a maybe), I might come to feel kindly toward her. I know 
I could if she made you very happy. I — that is, I think I 
could. 

“ And now will you write to me a good strong letter, 
telling me that I am right, that you are sorry for me, and 
that you will be my friend for all time to come ? Help me, 
0 my beloved ! — help me to bear this hard burden : for, 
though my spirit is willing, my flesh is very, very weak ; and 
it is a grievous, hard burden to bear. Help me to say, ‘ Thy 
will be done !■ ’ for of my own repining self I cannot say it. 

“ Once more, good-by ! Lovingly, sorrowfully, your 
friend : only this, and nothing more-.’^ 


CHAPTEE XXXVII. 

AK AsrSWER TO AN ANSWER. 

With tliis letter Mira despatched one to her brother, 
detailing the particulars of the affliction that had befallen 
their father, and conveying an urgent request from the 
paralytic that his son would come on and help him to 
arrange some pressing business-matters. 

Fully three weeks had elapsed since the mailing of the 
two letters, — three weeks of wearing, patient, devoted at- 
tention to the stricken man, whose largest liberty was the 
power of using his hands and the recovered faculty of 
speech. 

Night had closed in. His attendants had just wheeled 
his chair through the sitting-room door into his own sleep- 
ing-apartment to dispose of his helpless body for the night. 
Mira’s duties for the day were over. Wheeling a low 
ottoman in front of the fire, she cast her weary body down 
upon the soft rug ; laid her arms upon the ottoman ; and, 
drooping her head upon them, she allowed the tears, that 
she kept bravely out of her father’s sight during the day, 
to fall unchecked. Life was so dreary, so lonely, so joyless ! 
Was she very wicked because her disappointed heart would 
repine over the might-have-been ? She tried to be strong 
and cheerful : was it her fault that she did not always suc- 
ceed ? 

0 mother, mother ! If God had only taken me, and 
left you ! ” 

Poor little sister ! Is it so miserable as to wish for 
death ? ” And tenderly she was folded in a pair of strong 

261 


252 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


arms, while on her brother’s breast she sobbed her grief 
away. 

I feel better now, dear Alfred, since you’ve come to 
help me bear it. I ought not to keep you from poor father 
any longer. He may he asleep : don’t wake him if he is.” 
And, resolutely wiping her glittering lashes, Mira lifted her 
head from her brother’s breast, and pointed to the door 
leading into her father’s chamber. 

Some one has come with me, Mi, to help you bear this 
too, if you will let him. — !Fred ! ” 

From the other end of the long drawing-room, in whose 
obscurity he had delicately remained out of sight while 
Mira was so overwhelmed, Mr. Somers advanced eagerly 
in answer to his friend’s call. A suspicious moisture glittered 
in the fine eyes that were fixed upon the face of the girl 
he loved, full of tenderest admiration and ineffable pity. 
Alfred left them alone, passing through the door into his 
father’s presence. 

“Was this wise?” asked Mira, extending two small, 
trembling hands, as she raised her tear-stained eyes to her 
lover’s handsome face. 

“ Do love and wisdom ever go together ? ” asked Fred, 
smiling gently down upon the sweet, sad face, as he clasped 
the two little hands in one of his own ; and, drawing her 
daringly into the shelter of his arms, he pressed a tender 
kiss upon the mouth that had just given him such a doubt- 
ful welcome. 

Then Mira’s ready tears sprang afresh. That quiet taking 
possession of her had given her just the faintest foretaste 
of the sweetness of being loved and sheltered. But the 
tears that she shed, with his arm around her, while one of 
his hands smoothed the soft hair from her flushed forehead 
with a touch almost womanly in its gentleness, w^ere bereft 
of half their pain. They did not scorch and wither and 
drain her heart as the tears she shed when alone and un- 
pitied. His dear sympathy assuaged her grief in a marvel- 
lous fashion. 

“My poor darling! And you fancied yourself strong 
enough to dispense with me, did you ? ” 

“ I have dispensed with you ; but I didn’t do it by way 
of proving my strength. I did it because I wasn’t selfish 
in my love.” ^ She was sitting by his side on the sofa, her 
little hand lying passively in his. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


253 


“ Do T look like a man that had been dispensed with ? ” 
asked Fred, raising her face so that her eyes met his fully. 

A shy, tender glance, and a pretty pink flush on the sweet 
face, was all the answer he got. 

“ And you thought your letter was the closing paragraph 
to our love-tale, did you, little lady ? 

“ It was the closing paragraph.’’ 

This looks very much like it, don’t it ? ” And, with the 
utmost deliberation, he folded the small form in his strong 
arms. 

Cruel ! You taunt me with the weakness of indulging 
my starved heart for this one only time ; ” and the glance he 
received from the eyes he so dearly loved was full of re- 
proach and indignation. 

“ I charge you with nothing, my precious little wife that 
is to be, save with total lack of contidence in the strength 
and durability of my love.” 

In rosy confusion, Mira turned her head aside ; but she 
ceased struggling to extricate herself from the clasp that 
was so deliciously firm. 

^^How listen to me,” said Fred with an air of almost 
marital authority. ‘^Your brother and myself have most 
fully discussed this wdiole thing on our way hither. You 
are not to be allowed to sacrifice yourself to an overween- 
ing sense of duty. While this terrible affliction is new to 
your father, I could not ask you to enter upon new duties. 
And I do not propose to be an ogre, -who expects his wife 
to perform the duties of an upper servant : in fact, I don’t 
know what the duties, which you talk about so prettily, 
will consist of, besides always looking your prettiest ; hav- 
ing a sweet smile for me whenever I come for one ; exercis- 
ing your patience toward my many shortcomings and my 
dogs; also jingling around with a key-basket by way of 
looking important.” 

You don’t know what you are talking about ! ” said 
Mira, the model housekeeper, indignantly ; smiling, though, 
for the first time in weeks. 

Don’t I ? Well, then, you needn’t jingle the key-basket. 
But let me go on. Alfred and I have arranged, that, at the 
end of the year, we are to get married.” 

‘Wou and Alfred? ” asked the young lady demurely. 

Fred was luminous at the idea of having coaxed a hu- 


254 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


morous assault from his depressed little lady-love ; so he 
readily forgave the fling at his eloquence. 

Which will give me, you see, an opportunity to arrange 
things, so that my uncle’s business will not suffer.” 

It is Alfred’s desire that your father should he removed 
to Belton, if” — 

That would never do ! ” said Mira hastily. Maggie 
could not half take care of him.” 

^^Well, my darling,” answered Fred cheerfully, ^Hhings 
are a little mixed at present ; and there is no knowing 
what will happen before the year has expired. But I have 
brought something along with me, by way of sealing my 
ownership to this most coveted little treasure.” And he 
raised the hand lying in his own tenderly to his lips. 

“ You love me ? ” 

With all my heart and soul.” 

You are willing to be mine ; and, by this ring of promise, 
I do most solemnly swear to wait patiently for my beloved 
Mira until we can be joined together in the sight of man 
in God’s own good time.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

ALFRED LEARNS THE TRUTH. 

When Alfred Walworth had so considerately and wisely 
left the task of comforting his sister to Frederic Somers, 
betaking himself into his father’s presence, strong man as he 
was, he actually started at the fearful change disease had 
wrought in the magnificent physique before him. 

It seemed as if a decade might have passed over his fa- 
ther’s head, every year ploughing its own deep furrow in 
the high, broad forehead, and planting fresh wrinkles round 
the handsome eyes. Physical sufiering had drawn and con- 
tracted his mouth into a fixed expression of cynicism ; and 
there was an air of helpless wretchedness about the whole 
man that touched his son’s heart, and caused his manner, as 
he advanced toward the chair of the paralytic, to savor more 
of the old-time deference than Philip Walworth had re- 
ceived from his hoy since that ill-fated night, four years gone 
now, when he had torn his beloved Esther from his arms. 

Father, this is sad indeed ! From my soul I feel for 
you.” 

Thank you, hoy ; thank you ! I am glad you’ve come. 
I’ve wanted to see you. I want to talk to you ; to tell you 
something ; to do an act of tardy justice. It is never too 
late to do good, is it ? Send those fellows out.” 

Alfred dismissed the attendants, telling them he would 
ring for them when his father needed them to complete his 
preparations for retiring, which his own arrival had inter- 
rupted. 

Come close to me. There ! now promise to listen to me 

255 


256 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


very patiently, and as kindly as you can, my boy ; for it is 
no easy task I’ve set myself: but justice requires it; and I 
think there’s One above will approve of what I am going to 
do.” 

^‘Justice to whom, father?” 

“ To Esther Brandon.” 

Alfred started violently, and his face crimsoned at this 
unexpected answer. 

Do you love that girl yet, Alfred ? ” A look of distress 
flitted across the father’s brow ; for it was only too evident 
that his son could not even hear that name spoken without 
emotion. 

I shall die loving her with the maddest, truest, wicked- 
est passion that was ever wasted on a woman ! ” was Alfred 
Walworth’s passionate answer. 

God help me ! my task is a very hard one. But the 
painful story I am about to tell you may help you to over- 
come your ill-fated love for that poor girl. Heaven grant it 
may ! ” 

Hold, father ! Are you going to tell me any thing against 
Esther Brandon ? ” 

“ Nothing. Esther Brandon, for all I know to the con- 
trary, is all that even your ardent fancy paints hex.” 

Then I am ready to listen to you. But are you equal to 
the exertion ? ” 

The physical effort is nothing ; and, if I take time to 
think much more about it, I may never tell it. Now or 
never.” 

“ Now, then, let it be,” answered Alfred, rolling his chair, 
as requested, close enough to his father’s to hear distinctly 
every word of the following confession, delivered in a slow, 
labored manner by the enfeebled paralytic : — 

At the age of twenty-one, Alfred, I was what people call 
a fast young man. Nor was it much wonder. I was the 
only child of a very weak mother, whose unlimited means 
enabled her to gratify every desire of her boy’s heart, how- 
ever unreasonable ; and whose highest ambition seemed 
gratified by seeing me lionized and petted by fashionable 
women, while I led the ton of fashionable young men. 

When I returned from college, I found that my mother 
had domesticated with her a young girl, an orphan, a distant 
relation of my fiither’s, whose beauty far surpassed any thing 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


257 


I had ever seen in the fashionable circles which I fre- 
quented. 

Her position was that of a dependant in my mother’s 
house. She was housekeeper and lady’s companion ; reading 
to mother, whose eyesight was failing, and riding out with 
her on her airings and shopping expeditions. Of course, she 
was poor in the extreme. 

“ I fell in love with her, — honestly, madly in love with 
her. I would gladly have married her, and said as much to 
my mother. Never before did I know what reserves of 
harshness and obstinacy there were in her apparently yield- 
ing nature. 

“ Her wrath was terrible. She upbraided me with ingrati- 
tude, with * grovelling tastes, with low desires. She anathe- 
matized poor Amy Wharton as a hold, unscrupulous 
adventurers, who’ had thrown her wiles around me, and was 
striving to entrap me into a marriage, because of my wealth 
and social station. I defended her stoutly, and avowed my 
intention to marry her if she would have me. I was hot- 
tempered and disrespectful. I left home for a day or two : 
when I returned, Amy had been banished to parts unkno\vn. 
A tender little note from her, however, imploring me not to 
let her breed discord between me and the mother who so 
idolized me, revealed to me her whereabouts. I followed 
her up ; I forced from her the confession that my love was 
reciprocated, and bound her by a solemn oath to wait for me 
until I could marry her. Then I tried persuasion on my 
mother : she was wrathfully obdurate. I had a confidant in 
my trouble : it was a fast young man about town, a former 
college chum of mine. I went to him for sympathy : he 
gave me sympathy and advice. He proposed a secret mar- 
riage. ^ Mother would worm the secret out of the Devil,’ I 
answered him ; ^ and I don’t know that I am quite ready to 
he cast adrift with empty pockets, even for Amy Wharton’s 
sake.’ — ‘ Probably ; but not out of me,’ was his significant 
reply. ^ It is the girl you want, isn’t it ? ’ I told him that 
it was. ^ Well, I can splice you as well as any hlack-coat ; 
and then, you know, there’s no danger of my turning State’s 
evidence. And it will he all the same to her : she won’t 
know that I’m not a right reverend and all that sort of 
thing.’ Looking back on it now, it all looks black enough : 
then it struck us both in the light of a charming escapade, — 
17 


258 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


something that all the other ^bloods’ would call ^ deiised 
clever/ and women would smile at behind their fans, reserv- 
ing all their frowns and condemnation for the one innocent 
participant in the whole affair. It was not difficult of ac- 
complislnnent ; for the innocent child loved me so ardently, 
that I found it easy enough to convince her that there was 
no sin in marrying me privately, and w^iiting for me to win 
my mother’s pardon for us both. My chum performed the 
ceremony that gave me full possession of the object of my 
passion. For over a j^ear I lived a life of uneasiness and 
growing anxiety, enjo3dng by snatches of weeks, sometimes 
only days, the charming society of the innocent creature who 
fondly believed herself my wedded wife ; but never yet hiid 
I been able to muster the courage requisite to a* full confes- 
sion to my mother, who had grown tender and loving again, 
now that she thought I had given Am^^ Wharton up 
entirel}^ 

It was about this time, my son, that your angel-mother 
came across my pathway. Then, for the first time, I knew 
what pure, undefiled love meant. I knew, that, with her 
for my wife, life would have a truer, better fiavor than it had 
ever yet possessed for one who spent his time in mad orgies, 
in uncontrolled enjoyment of whatever offered. I proposed 
for her hand, and was accepted. I had never j^et broken oft* 
my connection with Amy Wharton ; but, from the night on 
which your mother promised to be my wife, I never returned 
to her. I knew her shrinking disposition too well to fear 
any thing from her. I wrote to her, confessed the fraud I 
had practised upon her, implored her forgiveness, and offered 
to salve her wounds with a handsome settlement. I received 
no answer to my letter. My mother was feverishly anxious 
to see my marriage with Miss Stanley consummated without 
dela}^ We were engaged but a few months. On my wed- 
diug-night I received a strange summons : it was to Am}’- 
Wharton’s death-bed, or, rather, what was then thought to 
be her death-bed. I obeyed the summons, which was sim- 
ply a call from a physician of some note to follow the mes- 
senger to a certain house. AVith my pure bride waiting for 
me, I went. The^^ showed me into a chamber; and there, 
wan and perishing, lay Amy AVharton. She told me, that, 
for herself, she had nothing to ask; but she j)leaded for kind- 
ness and care for the child that she was about to give birth 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


250 


to. I was horror-stricken. What could I do ? hTothing 
but promise what she asked, and get away from her as soon 
as I could. I went back to the physician in attendance. 
He told me then, what he said he had not been courageous 
enough to tell her, that she had not twenty-four hours to 
live. He was more than positive she would die before day- 
break. I heaved a s.igh of murderous relief. She was a 
living reproach to me : her death would remove that re- 
proach. There would be no child born : the man of science 
was ready to stake his reputation upon that. I wrote out a 
check for a thousand dollars for her use. Hf she needs more, 
let me know,’ I said. Then I went back to my bride. We 
were married, and left the next day for a bridal-tour to 
Europe. I never heard again of Amy Wharton. Of course 
she had died that night. Twenty-four years of peaceful 
happiness I had spent with your angel-mother, when your 
sister came home from school, bringing with her Esther 
Brandon, whose remarkable likeness to Amy Wharton al- 
most deprived me of the power of speech when I first saw 
her. But, when I discovered that she was Mira’s age, I 
knew it could be but a chance likeness ; for Amy Wliarton 
had died years before Mira’s birth. I was willing for you 
to marry this young girl, penniless as she was ; for I re- 
membered my own boyish passion, and the woe springing 
from injudicious opposition. I satisfied myself by a rigid 
cross-examination that she was nothing to Amy Wharton. 
When I went to New York, just before your marriage was 
to have been consummated, Esther gave me an old bracelet 
which she said had been her mother’s, asking me to have it 
made smaller. The jeweller drew my attention to the fiict 
that he would have to cut tli rough a curious inscription on 
the inside of it. I had not seen the trinket _ before, having 
handed the box to him just as I received it from Esther. 
At his request I took it to examine the inscription. H 
cipher were the words, * My Amy,’ — a sophomorical inscrip- 
tion I had caused to be engraven in one of my love-tokens. 

Esther Brandon, then, was Amy Wharton’s child. How 
to account for the discrepancy in age I did not try. In 
mad haste I whirled home in time to prevent your union. 
I hunted up the physician before alluded to. ETe informed 
me, that, contrary to his expectations, his patient had recov- 
ered, and had left Ins charge six weeks after my visit, with her 


260 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


one-month-old infant. Then my last doubts were removed. 
The rest you know. I believe my days are numbered. I 
would do that poor child some sort of justice. I wish to 
divide my property evenly between you, your sister Almira, 
and my natural daughter, Esther Brandon.’’ 

A dead silence fell upon the air. Nothing was audible 
but Alfred Walworth’s heavy breathing, as with bowed head, 
and gloomy eyes fixed upon the glowing coals, he sat listen- 
ing to this strange recital. 

Philip Brandon spoke again. 

“ Have you not one word for me, boy ? ” 

Not one, by G-d! in extenuation of the society-scoun- 
drelism that let the perpetrators of a most foul wrong go 
scot-free, but fell with a crushing weight upon the trem- 
bling shoulders of a poor, weak girl, whose heart is as pure, 
whose soul as exalted, as any saint’s in heaven.” 

I would offer her atonement.” 

Atonement ! ” cried Alfred, his bearded lip curling with 
scorn ineffable. How little, sir, do you know of the nature 
of proud Esther Brandon, to dare think of offering her 
atonement for her mother’s betrayal, her own stained life ! 
’Twould take a braver man than I to face her with the bare 
offer of moneyed atonement.” 

“ Then my humiliating confession has been all in vain.” 

Not so,” answered his son ; for it has vindicated my 
exalted estimate of Esther Brandon’s character, and has en- 
abled me to charge my blighted life to the proper source.” 

“ Your blighted life, boy ! What do you mean ? ” 

^Wes, my blighted life. What am I but a most success- 
ful failure? Where are all the high aims, the grand plans, 
the brilliant hopes, with which I started out in life ? Gone, 
dead, buried in the grave of my ill-starred love for Esther 
Brandon. She was the light of my life, its inspiration. 
When I lost her, I lost every incentive to ambition. What 
am I but a social drone ? — a man who eats and drinks, and 
spends money, and rides fast horses, and has sound credit 
at the banker’s, and devil a thing more creditable. So, if it 
is any disappointment to you — and, God knows, I hope that 
it is — to know that the sole representative of the Walworth 
name is^ failure, charge it in a retributive way to your- 
self and the fast young blood, who, with you, concocted the 
manly scheme of enticing an ignorant girl into a fraudulent 
marriage before my advent into this accursed world.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


261 


Alfred, Alfred, my son ! I shall not be here long. Do 
not harden 3mur heart against me. My crime was not such 
a heinous one, that you, a man, cannot find it in your heart 
to excuse ’’ — 

Stop, father ! ’’ cried the young man impetuously. You 
are speaking now as a man of the world to another man of 
the world. I know how society winks at such things. 
I know that you have gone through life honored and re- 
spected by men, admired by women, beloved to the end of 
life by one of God’s purest and best creatures, — my own 
angelic mother. I doubt, if the whole world had known it, 
if you would have received one token of respect the less ; or, 
at most, a little transient condemnation might have been 
meted out to you by the very persons who would have 
hounded your victim out of society as unworthy to touch 
the hem of their garments. But I take the liberty of com- 
ing to issue with society on this point ; and when I think 
of Esther Brandon, — a woman of fine intellect, proud 
nature, tender heart, — and fancy what she must suffer, and 
has suffered, for the sins of her father, I could find it in me 
to curse the maker and merciless executor of that most mon- 
strous decree.” 

Then Philip Walworth remained silent, following the 
impetuous motions of his son, as he strode up and down the 
room in impatient wrath, with wistful, pleading eyes. 

In one of his revolutions, Alfred caught this sad glance. 
A sudden impulse brought him to the side of his stricken 
father. He held out his hand. 

Father, I think God is punishing you already for Amy 
Wharton’s ruin. You have been a good parent to me ; and, 
for the sake of the dear saint who loved us both, I will try 
to remember that it is not my province to sit in judgment 
on your misdeeds. Forgive me for the angry bitterness my 
feelings have betrayed me into. I am glad you have told 
me the whole truth. I think it will help me in more ways 
than one. How I will leave you for the night.” And, 
ringing in the attendants, he bade his father good-night. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


ANIMATED SYMBOLS. 

Has it never struck you, reader mine, tlie curious resem- 
blance that frequently presents itself between things ani- 
mate and inanimate ? I hope it has ; for I prefer not being 
held solely responsible for the assertion, that some liumaii 
beings are nothing more nor less than animated symbols. 

Has not almost every family its bolster? — the family 
bolster generally being a tender-hearted old maid, whose 
unappropriated energies are employed in bolstering the 
weak, encouraging the flagging, sustaining the drooping, 
aiding and abetting in all good works, a comfort and a con- 
venience, as are all good bolsters. 

Then there are the “finished” demoiselles of the fash- 
ionable circle. What are they more than pretty pictures, 
fair to look upon with their graceful outlines and dainty 
color combinations ; splendid ornaments with which to en- 
rich a parlor, seeing always to it that the frame in which 
they be set is richly gilt ; masterpieces, outlined by the hand 
of Nature, filled up and colored by the artistic hand of 
madame the modiste ; elegant luxuries within reach only 
of the wealthy amateur collector ? 

Then I know a duster, — a soft, dainty, motherly feather- 
duster, that perambulates about of itself, cleansing all 
things, brightening dingy spots, purifying the home atmos- 
phere, carrying comfort, pleasure, and good cheer with it in 
its feathery peregrinations, brushing away the motes of dis- 
• content that darken the sunshine of home, waging war upon 
all the enemies of domestic comfort, until the children of its 
generation are ready to rise up and call it blessed. 

262 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


263 


Alfred Walworth had taken unto himself a grater for a wife, 
— a pretty, pink-complexioned, blue-eyed, golden-haired, 
soft-voiced woman, to the eye; but, to all intents and pur- 
pose, a genuine human grater, who rasped and grated with 
a persistent industry worthy of a better cause, and with a 
sublime unconsciousness of the miscliievous tendency of 
that industry that was peculiarly feminine. 

If any one had presented a picture of her home-life to 
Maggie Walworth in the form of a syllogism, thus, — “ We 
desire to torture only those whom we hate : you torture 
your chosen lord persistently; therefore you hate your 
chosen lord,” — she would have hurled the spiteful logic 
back at one in a burst of indignant denial, have shed 
copious showers of outraged tears, and have loudly pro- 
claimed her wifely devotion to that chosen lord. 

And she did love him, — loved him dearly ; loved him, 
and made him miserable. Is Mrs. Alfred Walworth sid 
generis ? 

Was she to blame for being a grater? Or was Mr. Wal- 
worth to* blame for having failed to ascertain any thing 
beyond the leading items, — that Miss Maggie Vincent was 
of unexceptionable family and undoubted wealth ? Eather, 
were not both to blame for forgetting that they had taken 
each other for better or for worse ? 

Had they not have been the happier for a personal appli- 
cation of St. Paul’s good advice, — Let the husband render 
unto the wife due benevolence ; and likewise, also, the wife 
unto the husband ” ? 

Your pardon, dear reader, for this prosy moralizing: my 
better judgment pronounces it both unwise and unpopular. 

When the letter announcing the family trouble in Ches- 
ter reached Belton, Alfred went into his wife’s presence to 
read it to her, and to inform her of the necessity for his 
immediate compliance with his sister’s summons home. 

He found her worshipping at the shrine of her idol. A 
soft Afghan was spread upon the carpet before the nursery- 
fire, upon which lay baby Felix deep in the mystery of his 
crimson clad toes; while Maggie was curled up on the Af- 
ghan behind him, patiently coaxing a dozen hairs of one 
incli in length to curl round her slender white finger. A 
pretty picture the two made, — the child-mother and her 
child-sovereign. 


2G4 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Mrs. Walworth glanced up as the door opened to admit 
her husband. 

“ Shut the door quick, please : the draught will blow on 
baby.’’ 

Mr. Walworth had long since learned to regulate his 
hand, feet, voice, desires, and inclinations to suit the needs 
and convenience of his royal majesty, the ruler of all the 
Walworths. So he shut the door with such indiscreet haste, 
that a startling bang was the natural consequence. 

Baby Felix, who had inherited a most unreasonable set 
of nerves from his mother, started, glanced toward the in- 
truding monster, turned for refuge to the maternal haven, 
finally giving expression to his dissatisfaction by puckering 
up his rosebud of a mouth in an injured fashion, saying, as 
plainly as a young gentleman could whose command of 
language was rather limited, “ Isn’t he a rude monster to 
frighten my infant soul in that fashion ? ” The puckered 
mouth was enough for the intense mother. 

“My poor angel, mother might have known he would 
have banged it as hard as he could. Next time mother 
will shut it herself, and she’ll try to remember that babies 
have baby-nerves.” 

“ I have a letter here from Mira, Maggie, which contains 
bad news,” said Alfred, ignoring the insinuation thrown out, 
that he had not remembered the important fact that babies 
have baby-nerves. 

The magic word “news” was potent enough to cause 
Mrs. Walworth to gather herself and baby up from the 
Afghan, and seat herself in a rocking-chair; inquiring 
eagerly, “ What is it ? ” 

“ Father has been struck with paralysis.” 

“ Horrible ! ” ejaculated Maggie. “ But that is better than 
dying,” she added, essaying the comforter. 

“ I disagree with you : I should consider death far. prefera- 
ble.” 

“ Of course, you disagree with me : I have yet to see you 
agree with me.” 

“ I am not in an argumentative mood just now,” replied 
her husband coldly. “ I came to let you know that I shall 
have to go on to Chester immediately.” 

“ What ! And drag baby and me back over that horrible 
journey we are not yet rested from ? ” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


265 


I have no notion of taking you and the hoy with me.’’ 

“Leave us here all by ourselves, to be murdered by 
your horrid black slaves !” cried Mrs. Walworth in a frenzy 
of unreasonableness. 

“ Leave you here ? - — yes. All by yourselves ? — no. The 
overseer and his wife are within stone’s-throw of you, and can, 
if you desire it, occupy one of tlie up-stairs rooms during my 
absence. As for your being murdered by my horrid black 
slaves, I think the white race would he improved by the pos- 
session of their gentle disposition and kindly nature.” 

“ That means me, of course. You never omit an opportunity 
to assure me of my inferiority ; but I hardly expected even 
you to say that I wasn’t half as good as your negroes.” 

“I am not aware of having made any such remarkable 
assertion. Shall I request the overseer to move over for your 
protection during my absence ? ” 

“ Have that great common wretch tramping his mud all 
over my hall oil-cloth and my stair-carpet ? No, I thank 
you ! Of the two evils, I believe I prefer being murdered in 
my bed by your kind-natured negroes.” 

“I think loneliness will be the onl}^ calamity you are in 
danger of Suppose ” — 

“ Loneliness ! ” interrupted the pretty grater with lugubri- 
ous sarcasm. “ I am sure I ought to he used to that by this 
time ; for what wuth your overseers, and your crops, and your 
dog-training and deer-hunting, it is little enough I see of 
you as it is. It’s a wonder sometimes you don’t forget how 
your own wife and child look.” 

“ If you ever gave any indication that my company was 
a source of pleasure to you, probably I should inflict myself 
upon you oftener ; but I am generally made to feel like an 
unwelcome intruder. If the baby is asleep, I must tip-toe ; 
if he’s going to sleep, I mustn’t say a word. I mustn’t 
smoke, cough, nor sneeze : in fact, I mustn’t do any thing but 
remember the baby.” 

“ Of course I am an ogress for attending to my child’s 
actual wants properly,” replied the injured wife. 

“ Not at all, Margaret ; but are wifely and motherly duties 
totally incompatible ? ” 

“ That’s right, — accusation upon accusation. I knew you 
were perfectly furious about something when you hanged 
the door so after you. But where’s the use of having a wife 
if you can’t take out all your spite on her ? ” 


2G6 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


I was not accusing you, Margaret : I was onlj^ excusing 
myself.” 

There ! I said you were perfectly furious. You never call 
me Margaret until you get to hating me.” 

“ Silly child ! ” 

“ Ihn not a silly child : Pm a wretched woman.” 

Wretched woman, then ! ” said Alfred, trying to jest her 
childish anger away. “I was about to propose that you 
should invite Miss Cally to spend with you the two weeks I 
shall be absent. She seems to be a cheerful soul.” 

“ Cheerful ! I call it fidgety. She would give me the St. 
Vitus’s dance before she’d been here two days.” 

Curse it ! ” cried the exhausted husband : that is ni)” 
last suggestion. Here you stay : 'now suit yourself with a 
companion.” 

Mrs. Walworth looked at her husband with calm dignity, 
which was generail}'’ the role she assumed promptly after 
having completely robbed him of both calmness and dig- 
nity. 

“ I don’t think, Mr. Walworth, in the whole circle of ni}’- 
acquaintances, there figures another man who cannot, just 
cannot, discuss any subject quietly and amicably with his 
wife, without winding up with a coarse burst of profani^* 
It is sincerely to be hoped that you will have learned to con- 
trol your temper by the time our angel-boy is of an age to 
take his father for an exemplar.” 

“ It is sincerely to be hoped,” was Alfred’s gloomy re- 
sponse, ^Hhat, before that time shall have arrived, I shall 
have found rest from this wearing existence in the grave, 
and you may select as my successor a more fitting exemplar for 
the boy than his own unhappy father.” 

Swiftly as a bird on the wing, Maggie deposited her pre- 
cious burden upon his crib ; then, speeding back to the hus- 
band whose soul she had been grating upon with baleful 
industry for the past hour, she threw her arms tenderly 
around his neck, substituting caresses for abuse. 

Take back those cruel words, my husband, or I will 
cry my eyes out.” 

But I meant what I said : therefore retraction is un- 
necessary.” 

Meant that you wanted to die, and leave poor baby 
and me ! ” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


267 


‘‘Meant that it would be no hardship to me, no loss 
to you.” 

“ You sha’n’t talk so ; ” and, in a passion of grief, Alfred 
Walworth’s child-wife threw herself into his passive arms. 

“ Alfred,” presently; . 

“Well.” 

“ Don’t you love me a bit ? ” 

“ I don’t know. You make it deused hard work some- 
times.” 

“ Please say ‘ Yes.’ ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And, Alfred, don’t you believe I love you dearly ? ” 

“ You have a queer way of showing it, if you do.” 

“ But I do.” 

Silence pregnant with incredulity. 

“Please say 3'ou believe I do.” 

“ You believe I do,” echoed Alfred meaninglessly. 

“ Hateful ! — to laugh at me ! ” 

“ Shall I cry with you ? ” 

“ Ho ; but you can pity me.” 

“ I don’t think you need pity.” 

“But I do.” 

“ For what ? ” 

“For having a husband who don’t love me; who is 
either sneering at me or laughing at me all the time; for 
having to go through life famishing for happiness, but 
never possessing it ; for having been torn from the bosom 
of a doting family, and sent into exile to die of a broken- 
heart,” was Mrs. Walworth’s melodramatic finale. 

“You have forgotten your chief claim to pity, my wife.” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Maggie, brightening at the prospect 
of another grievance. 

“The curse of a totally unreasoning nature. For that 
I pity you, — pity you heartily and sincerely. But we are 
alike objects of pity, Margaret, in being married, but not 
mated. Yours, maybe, is the harder lot of the two. It 
grieves me that nothing but my death can release you. 
Divorces, you know, are not exactly the genteel thing; 
and, however miserable we may be, let us be genteel. Ac- 
cording to the world, for which I know you entertain the 
most profound respect, better lead the life of the infernal 
regions in private than come out boldl}^, declare, your 


2G8 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


burden too grievous to be borne, and legally rid yourself 
of it. Therefore, sorry as I am for you and for myself, 
tliere is no help for us : for we both swore very solemnly 
before God’s altar to make each other miserable until death 
did iis part; and, by the Eternal ! I think you’ve carried out 
your part of the contract like a soldier.” 

Subdued and remorseful, Maggie sobbed out her promises 
to be more amiable and reasonable ; and, to her credit be 
it told, she faithfully kept that promise until — the next 
time. 

On the day succeeding this by no means novel entertain- 
ment, Mr. Walworth had left for Chester, as we have already 
seen, accompanied by Mr. Somers. 


CHAPTER XL. 

CONTAINS A REVELATION. 

It was mail-day for tlie Oaks and for Belton. The 
postal arrangements down on Le Noir were primitive in the 
extreme. A rude shanty, called, for grandeur, a ^^ware- 
house,” stood upon the banks of the little river, and was 
occupied by a responsible individual, who received and 
stored all freight intended for the various plantations in 
the vicinity, and took charge of such mail-matter as was 
forwarded from the nearest distributing-office, distributing 
the same in his turn as called for. 

On the day in question, the mail messenger from the 
Oaks received from the responsible individual at the ware- 
house a letter for Madame Estella Somers, and a news- 
paper for the master of the Oaks, both of which were 
Iraught with more than ordinary interest. 

Mr. Etheridge was indulging in an after-dinner siesta 
when the messenger returned ; and his sister was the sole 
occupant of the library, whither she repaired to read her 
letter undisturbed : for the Frenchy address, and the un- 
familiar calligraphy, assured her, before she broke the seal, 
that she held in her hand the anxiously-looked-for answer 
to her letter of inquiry respecting Esther Brandon’s early 
history. 

Mrs. Somers was in a peculiarly complaisant frame of 
mind. Things were going just to suit her of late. The 
growing friendship and intimacy between her son and Mrs. 
Golding’s handsome governess pleased her well. It was 
evident that Frederic liked Esther better and better, the 

269 


270 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


more lie saw of her (bear in mind that Mrs. Somers was 
not in the secret of the pact between Mira’s two friends). 
Proximity was every thing in affairs of tliis kind. And, 
altliough Frederic had gone on to see the other one, she 
felt confident, from the tenor of Miss AYalworth’s letter, 
tliat nothing could induce lier to enter into a matrimonial 
engagement with any one during her afflicted father’s life- 
time. She had lauded the young girl’s heroic determina- 
tion to the skies, when Fred, as was his wont, had brought 
her his lady-love’s letter to read and pass judgment upon. 
How tenderly and pathetically had she dwelt upon filial 
reverence, and a daughter’s duty, and the beauty of self- 
sacrifice, and the necessity for patience, &c. ! — with what 
triumphant success, witness her son’s prompt action in en- 
gaging himself to the object of his love. 

But that untoward fact M'^as as yet unknown to Mrs. 
Somers : hence her com2daceiic3^ Every thing was working 
just to suit her. Proximity was two- thirds of the chances 
for winning the game : Mira absent, Essie present, was 
the other third. So she might as well consider it already 
won. And she should so consider it, 2)rovided the contents 
of the letter in her hand should prove it-wortli her while 
to play it out. To the letter, then : — 

“Madame Estella Someks, — It is with pleasure most 
unspeakable that I hasten to give you what meagre informa- 
tion I have at 1113^ command concerning the early history of 
my dear pu^^il, Esther Brandon ; for 3^11 assure me 3mu desire 
to do her good. And I rejoice at the j)rospect of any good 
befalling that sweet and most deserving child. I regret only 
that I cannot tell you more, fearing that the little I know 
myself will aid but slightly in clearing up the m3"steiy that 
enshrouds my poor Esther’s early years. In the long-ago, 
when my school was just beginning to pay me handsomely, 
there was brought to me by a Mr. Bicliard AVal worth a 
3mung girl of about fifteen 3"ears of age, exceedingl3" beau- 
tiful, to be educated. She was the orphan-child of a very 
dear but distant relation of his, he told me, whom he was 
going to educate, and then provide for in life. Her name 
was Amy AVharton ; and never was teacher blessed with 
sweeter, brighter, or more docile pupil. She remained 
with me three 3^ears ; at the end of which time, the 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


■ 271 


widow of the good Mr. Will worth who had brouglit her to 
me came and took her away. 

Then she passed out of my knowledge entirely for ten 
long years ; when what was my astonishment one day to 
have her come hack to me a broken-hearted, sad-faced' wo- 
man, bringing with her a sweet little girl of five years old, 
or, maybe, a little more ! My old pupil was very miserable ; 
but, for reasons best known to herself, she would tell me only 
just so much of her trouble as was necessary to secure my 
assistance. 

“ ^ A monstrous wrong,’ she told me, was about to be done 
her. Her child was to be taken away from her during that 
year. She wanted to leave it with me until she could win 
her husband back to love and mercy; which she could do, 
poor thing! she wildly declared, now that he was calm 
enough to listen to her. What her husband’s name was she 
would not tell. I judged he was a Southerner from her al- 
lusions to ^ down South.’ She went away confident of return- 
ing in triumph for her child within the year. When she 
clasped the babe to her bosom for the last caress, she 
murmured words of comfort into the little oars that were too 
young to comprehend them. Mamina and papa are coming 
back together for their darling,’ was what she said ; then 
tore herself away, and almost ran from the presence of her 
little forlorn one. She was very fragile at the time. Death, 
I fear, overtook her before the accomplishment of her de- 
sign; for she never came back for that child, who was 
Esther Brandon: whether that really be her name, or not, 
I cannot say. The. jewels which Amy left with me, and 
which I sold for her child’s support, betokened her husband 
to be a man of wealth. One bracelet of all the lot I saved 
as a keepsake for the forsaken child. That bracelet is in 
Miss Brandon’s keeping. 

Hoping, my dear madame, that the good Grod will aid 
you in your noble efforts to right my sweet Esther at last, 
I remain yours, KoA\lie Celesttne.” 

With the most absorbing interest did Mrs. Somers read 
this letter, which removed the last shadow ot a doubt that 
Esther Brandon was really the daughter of Koger Ether- 
idge, whom she, for her own son’s sake, had defrauded ot 
name, home, and fortune. Restitution was now her aim. 


272 


AGAINSt THE WORLD, 


By Frederic’s union with his beautiful cousin, the girl whom 
she had so wronged would be restored to home and fortune ; 
and Eoger Etheridge would gain in Frederic’s wife a tender- 
hearted, loving niece, who would be to him in reality all 
that she could be as an acknowledged daughter. Nothing 
in heaven or earth now must be allowed to interfere with 
the marriage of those two. And such was Estella Somers’s 
divine faith in her own powers, that not a fear for the result 
found resting-place in her wily bosom. The one human 
being from whom she had any thing to fear, old Dinah, had 
been kindly removed out of her pathway by her great ally. 
Death : so not a cloud disturbed the summer of her content. 

The closing paragraph of good Madame Celestine’s letter 
did make her wince slightly ; but that was all. She had 
no further use for that letter now : so, leaning forward, she 
dropped it into the glowing fire, which speedily reduced it to 
a black nothing. 

Then Mrs. Somers composed herself to the reading of the 
paper which had come with her letter. Column after col- 
umn of news, social and political, she leisurely scanned, 
until the words, “Terrible Steamboat Disaster on the 
Mississippi Fiver, just below Memphis ! ” caught her eye. 
With placid interest she read this, too, in all its horrible de- 
tails ; for Estella Somers’s heart was not quick with its 
sympathies for the world at large. “'List of passengers 
missing, supposed to be lost.” Then placid interest gave 
way to horrified surprise. “ Alfred M. Walworth, Frederic 
Somers : ” the names headed the list, — her darling’s, and 
that other man’s who was nothing to her, — nothing to any 
one in comparison with Frederic, the light, the joy, the 
glory, of her existence. 

With the fascination of horror she held the paper in her 
quaking hands, and read the monstrous item over and over. 

“Frederic, my Frederic, dead, burned! My beautiful 
boy blackened, scorched, hurled into eternity, writhing in 
agony, dead 1 It is a lie ! — a monstrous, monstrous lie ! 
Heaven could not be so cruel ! My boy gone, murdered ! 
God has robbed me, — robbed me of my darling! Now 
let him take me, woe is me ! from this darkened earth. 
Amy, Amy ! is this your vengeance ? Did you dictate 
it to the foul fiend? Why not have struck me in his 
stead ? He was innocent, — my boy, my beautiful ! — in- 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


273 


nocent of all guile. To bear, to rear, to love — is it for 
this I have suffered ? — for this sinned ? Yes, sinned ; and 
my sin has found me out.’’ 

Wildly raving, the miserable mother grovelled upon the 
floor, still clutching the fatal paper in her grasp. 

Awe-struck and wondering, Esther Brandon stood upon 
the threshold of the door, unnoticed by the half-crazed 
woman. 

She had just arrived, and, with the freedom of intimate 
acquaintanceship, had dismounted, and found her own way 
to the library just in time to hear those last few words, — 
words which contained a revelation for her, and left her no 
longer in doubt as to whether or not Roger Etheridge should 
be privately put in possession of the package old Dinah had 
charged her with. 

Amy, Amy ! is this your vengeance ? — for this 
sinned?” The words stamped themselves upon Esther 
Brandon’s brain with terrible distinctness, pregnant as they 
were with dark meaning. But just now, guilty though she 
was, this* woman was suffering. She needed help. Turn- 
ing softly, Esther sped away in search of Miss Gaily ; told 
her that Mrs. Somers was evidently in great trouble about 
something: then, calling for her horse, she remounted; 
for, at such a time, visitors could harcK}?- be welcome at the 
Oaks. 

Pondering deeply on the strange scene she had just wit- 
nessed, and the wild words she had just heard, Esther was 
slowlj^ pacing homeward, when the sudden plunging of a 
horse behind her caused her to rein up suddenly, and turn 
black Bess’s head. It was Alfred Walworth’s large black 
horse, upon which was mounted the Belton coachman. 

What is the matter ? ” cried the young lady involun- 
tarily ; for the man’s frightened face and frantic speed be- 
tokened trouble at Belton too. 

God only knows, young mistress,” said the man, halting 
as he spoke. Bad news from master, we’s ’feared. He’s 
up at his old home. Poor little mistress is all by herself, 
and took with a faintin’-spell. I’m hurryin’ for a doctor.” 
And away he dashed at lightning-speed. 

Trouble there too, and she alone! I will go to her. 
This is no time for weighing objections.” And, turning 
toward the Belton gates, Esther put black Bess upon her 
18 


274 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


mettle, and soon found herself at the door of Alfred Wal" 
worth’s home. 

A group of frightened slaves were collected on the 
front-gallery, who opened a pathway with alacrity for Miss 
Brandon to pass through. Striding up and down the large 
entrance-hall she found the overseer, — a coarse, good man, 
whose face was pallid with fright. 

What is the trouble, sir?” asked Esther, advancing 
toward him. 

This, ma’am, we’re afraid. When the darkies corned for 
me and my wife, we found the po’ lady in a dead swoon, 
with this in her hand ; ” and he held up for Miss Brandon’s 
inspection the newspaper-paragraph that had stricken 
Estella Somers to the earth. 

“Lost, — Alfred M. Walworth, Erederic Somers.” 

Eor a moment only did heroic Esther Brandon remember 
that it was the lover of her youth, the chosen idol of her 
soul, who had gone down in the pitiless deep ; for a moment 
only yield to the mortal agony that knowledge cost her : 
then she put her own misery away from her, and tried to 
think only of the crushed young wife, so young and soft 
and helpless, and of the little child whom God had seen fit 
in his inscrutable wisdom to make fatherless. 

It was a face full of divine pity that poor Maggie Wal- 
worth’s eyes, filled with frightened pain, rested upon when 
consciousness returned to her ; and it was a voice of angelic 
tenderness that spoke to the child- wife of Alfred Walworth, 
pouring the holy balm of human sympathy into her sore 
and bleeding heart. 

“ I have come to you, not to try to comfort you ; for time 
alone can do that. But my heart aches for you ; and if 
you will let me stay by you, and help you bear your great 
trouble, I shall be glad.” 

Then two impulsive arms went up over the girl’s queenly 
neck; and on Esther Brandon’s own sore, aching heart, 
Alfred’s wife wept in childish abandon, spending the first 
passion of her grief in soul-relieving tears. 

But the luxury of tears was not for Esther. Hers it was 
to be a hero in the strife. Was not her old-time vow being 
fulfilled ? 


CHAPTER XLL 


ALL A MISTAKE. 

Eor three long, sorrow-burdened days did Estella Somers 
rave in the delirium of her wild agony, crying aloud against 
high Heaven, who had quenched the sunlight of her life for 
ever and ever. 

Eor three long, sorrow-burdened days did Margaret Wal- 
worth lay stricken to the earth by the terrible blow that had 
widowed her, and orphaned her baby-boy, clinging in her 
childish helplessness to the comforting presence and tender 
ministrations of Esther Brandon, 

And then there came flitting Le Hoirward two white- 
winged messengers, bringing glad tidings of great joy, up- 
lifting the stricken hearts of mother and wife, dispersing 
the black cloud that had settled over the Oaks and Belton. 

Dropping metaphor, two telegrams were received by the 
reliable individual at the warehouse, who promptly for- 
warded them to their separate destinations. 

Read Mrs. Walworth’s, “A mistake. Am safe : will tele- 
graph when to look for me.” 

Read Mrs. Somers’s, Newspaper lie. Wasn’t even on 
the boat. Never was aliver than at present. Walworth 
ditto.” 

The telegram from Mr. Walworth was placed in Esther’s 
hands while she was sitting at the dismal breakfast-table, 
where her one plate was laid with punctilious ceremony, but 
was seldom turned ; a cup of strong black coffee being all- 
sufficient to satisfy and stimulate her for the weary day 
before her. 


?76 


276 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


Maggie had not left her bed since the fatal newspaper- 
paragraph had met her eye. An explanatory note from 
Miss Brandon to Mrs. Golding had brought back a sym- 
pathetic reply, begging her to remain with the unfortunate 
lady so long as she could be of service to her. So Esther 
had remained, spending the days in listening to the bitter 
wailings and mournful self-accusations of the forlorn little 
wife, to whom Alfred’s gloomy words about finding release 
in the grave came back now with crushing weight, bearing 
remorseful fruit. 

Oh ! if I had been a good wife to him, I could bear this 
hard blow better. But I was cross and peevish and child- 
ish ; and God has taken him from me because I did not 
appreciate him,” was her simple reading of the fatal decree; 
and remorsefully she bewailed her own well-merited punish- 
ment. 

In pained surprise had Esther heard these ravings. 
Then his married life was not complete, his home not 
happy. She had fancied that this pretty usurper had filled 
the place left vacant by her own banished image. His lot was 
harder then than her own, in that he had taken upon him- 
self a yoke that was not easy to bear. It was his own free 
act: but she pitied him none the less; pitied them both; 
for her own idea of home-happiness was such an exalted one, 
that from the depths of her soul she pitied any people who 
were bound together indissolubly without the blessing of 
that sanctifying love which' so powerfully aids both man 
and wife to bear and forbear. 

So, as Esther sat at her lonely meal, moralizing, ponder- 
ing, and pitying, doubting if, after all, Alfred was very 
much to be pitied for his sudden summons hence, the tele- 
gram was placed in her hands. Fearing some fresh shock 
for the bereaved wife, she read it first herself. And, behold ! 
he had not been summoned hence, but was still Maggie’s, 
to have and to hold and to torment ! 

Quickly Essie glided up stairs to break the happy news 
to Mrs. Walworth. 

She must not startle her ; for these weak women were as 
powerfully affected by joy as by sorrow. 

She found Maggie propped up in bed, little Felix, her 
one comfort, cuddled in her arms, while she moaned over 
him with a voice as plaintive as a mateless dove’s. 


AGAINST THE WOBLD. 


277 


“You feel better tbis morning, I hope,’’ said Essie, bend- 
ing over her new friend, and smoothing back the soft yel- 
low hair from the wan forehead. 

“ Better ! and Maggie looked up at her comforter very 
reproachfully, — “ better ! Is my grief so old that I can 
forget it ? 

“ Can you think of nothing that would make you feel 
better ? ” asked Essie, stumbling on toward her good news 
awkwardly enough. 

“ Nothing,’’ answered Maggie, sobbing the word out. 

“ Nothing at all ? ” 

“Nothing, but for the cruel grave to give back its 
dead.” 

“ And should the cruel grave do that very thing ? ” 

Then Maggie uplifted her eyes ; and, by the glad light in 
Esther’s own, she read the blissful truth. 

“ He is not dead ! he is not dead ! Oh, put it into words, 
sweet lady, and how my glad heart will bless you ! ” 

“He is not dead!” said Essie in a tender voice: then 
she laid the telegram upon the trembling little hands, that 
Maggie might yead the happy truth for herself. 

“ My boy, my baby-boy, God has given him back to 
us ! How I wish you could help me thank him 1 You do 
thank him in your tiny heart. Mother knows it by the 
bright glad light in your dear eyes.” 

And, of a truth, the baby-face did beam with the reflected 
light from its mother’s joy-lit features. 

Quietly Esther looked upon the wife in this newer and 
brighter phase. “ She is such a child ! He could mould her 
into any thing he would. She is of wax. They might be 
happy. They may be happy yet. God grant that this 
foretaste of what a bereavement his death would be may 
assist her to being a truer help-meet !” 

It is the most natural thing in the world for us to judge 
others by ourselves in an emotional way : hence Essie had 
expected her good tidings to affect Alfred’s wife in an 
entirely different way from what they did. . 

Under like circumstances, she would have wanted to be 
left alone to commune thankfully with the sender of her 
new happiness. Words would have afforded her no relief. 
Feeling thus, she turned quietly to leave the room, when 
the cheeriest of voices called her back. 


278 


AGAINST THE WORLD 


“ Don’t leave me alone, dear Miss Brandon ! I am so 
brimful of happiness, I must talk to somebody. Come riglit 
here, and sit on the bed by me. Let me talk to you of my 
precious Alfred. Oh, to think I shall be in his arms again 
soon, very soon! You must stay, and get to know him. 
He’s so splendid and dear ! And he will have to thank you 
for your angelic goodness to poor helpless me in my sor- 
rowful time. You will like him ; I know you will : you cannot 
help it. And I don’t want you to help it. I want you to 
be the very best of friends ; for, oh I what would I have 
done without you ? How could I have lived through it all ? 
You angel of goodness ! Kiss her, my boy, and tell her 
that we love her with all our hearts, and that father dear 
will love her too.” And baby Felix was held up for Esther 
to kiss by his chattering child-mother. 

Very tenderly Essie kissed the pure, sweet lips, and very 
bravely did she possess her soul in quietness, while the vol- 
uble Mrs. Walworth threw dart after dart into her long- 
suffering heart. 

In her helpless misery, Maggie had been an object of unal- 
loyed and tenderest pity. In her restored happiness, her 
frivolity and shallowness awakened a feeling very near akin 
to contempt. Esther ardently longed now to be gone ; to 
get away from the house, before, by any possible mischance, 
Alfred should return: so, when Maggie had apparently 
exhausted her flow of wordy gladness, she announced the 
necessity for returning to her school-duties. 

“Oh, not yet, not yet, please, dear Miss Brandon ! One 
more day I I am so dismally lonesome ! If you go away, 
I’ll just be foolish enough to doubt the truth that Alfred is 
not dead 1 ” 

“ What ! with his telegram in your hand ? ” said Essie, 
smiling indulgently. 

“ And I’ll get sick again,” urged the spoilt child. 

“But I have duties to attend to, my dear Mrs. Wal- 
worth.” 

For “duties.” Mrs. Walworth entertained a lofty scorn, 
and so pleaded and coaxed that Essie yielded. 

“ To-morrow, then, let it be. Will that satisfy you ? ” 

“ I will tell you to-morrow,” answered Maggie saucily. 

And there the matter rested until to-morrow. 

What miserably helpless puppets we are, to be sure, in 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


279 


the hands of Fate ! and how impossible was it for Maggie 
Walworth to guess that what she pleaded for with such 
ignorant earnestness, as a social boon, was to prove to her 
a source of woe unspeakable ! 

And is it not ever so with mortal supplication ? We 
plead, in our ignorance, for that which, if granted, would 
prove in the end a baleful curse, and not the expected 
blessing. 

And yet we rail with all our puny might at the Infinite 
Wisdom which goes on its sublime course, unmoved by our 
entreaties, creating a cosmos where man would have 
wrought a chaos. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


TO-MORROW. 

The day in wliich the house of mourning had been 
turned into a house of rejoicing at Belton — a sabbath- 
like day, holy in its calm — had passed away in its 
duly-appointed time'; and the eternal stars were shining 
resplendently over h^ouse and lawn, when a little skiff shot 
swiftly around a curve in the river, and made a landing in 
front of the Belton gates. Erom it sprang Alfred Wal- 
worth, who had steamed it to a landing some twelve miles 
below, the highest navigable point at that time, and then 
hired a skiff, with which he completed his journey. 

He had failed in his promise to telegraph again; con- 
sidering it, on second thoughts, entirely unnecessary. 

Pausing just long enough to pay the boatman his fare, 
he walked quickly on toward the house. 

It was early bedtime ; but, knowing Maggie’s cowardly 
nature, he was not surprised that the front-door refused 
him ingress. 

A wide veranda skirted the house on all sides. He 
would pass on round, and tap at his wife’s bedroom win- 
dow. On his way, the glimmer of a light from a bed- 
chamber, separated from Maggie’s by several rooms and a 
passage, attracted his attention. In some surprise he 
glanced through the uncurtained window, which was pro- 
tected simply by Venetian blinds. 

By a table near the fire sat Esther Brandon, one slender 
white hand supporting her beautiful head ; while her tender, 
sweet eyes were fixed upon the dancing flames of the wood- 
280 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


281 


fire with a gaze unspeakably sad. Around her in a shim- 
mering mass fell her glorious hair, just relieved from the 
bondage of braids and combs ; and the hand that lay upon 
her lap held a brush in a listless grasp. 

Her whole attitude betokened weariness; and she was 
weary — oh, so weary! — of this never-ending, still begin- 
ning strife with her own passionate soul. 

Can the consciousness of duties well done, of self- 
victories nobly won, bring to a woman’s ftimished soul that 
full measure of content that constitutes happiness? Can 
she reason herself into that unnatural state of mental exal- 
tation that shall render her independent of her sex’s grand 
need, — loving guardianship ? I doubt it, holding her to be 
but part a woman, and all an anomaly, who thinks to ren- 
der her life complete without its full share of heart-cheer. 

During the active occupation of the day, Essie’s lieroic 
determination carried her bravely along her lonely path- 
way ; but when the night came, — in which no man can 
work,” — in the stillness of solitude, the sense of dreary 
desolation in her unloved, unpitied existence, swept over 
her with crushing intensity. ' 

For a second only did Alfred Walworth stand transfixed 
with surprise at the sight of Esther Brandon, domesticated, 
apparently, in his house. But in that second the tender 
blue eyes of the woman he loved so well filled suddenly 
with great blinding tears ; and Queen Zenobia’s proud head 
was bowed upon her supporting arm as she yielded to a burst 
of uncontrollable misery. 

Starting with a feeling of criminality, Alfred passed on. 
His face burned with shame. He had not meant to pry 
upon her. His pause had been involuntary. But the sight 
of those tear-blinded eyes, that bowed head, lashed him into 
a frenzy of hatred and parricidal wrath against the man 
who had wrought her woe and his. How his heart yearned 
over that lonely girl in her wretchedness I How passion- 
ately he longed to put his strong arms around her, and 
soothe away those soul-scorching tears ! He could not go 
into his wife’s presence yet : he must wait a while. The 
sight of Esther, and Esther unhappy, had agitated him so 
powerfully, that he must take a little while in which to 
become more composed. 

Softly descending a flight of stairs that led down into 


282 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


tlie lawn from the side of the house, he noiselessl,y paced 
the grassy walks to and fro, trying to decide a matter tliat 
had haunted him ever since his father had put him in 
possession of the truth. Should he tell Esther that he 
knew it, and beg for a brother’s right to care for and shelter 
her? Should he do it ? Could he do it ? Dare he do it ? 
At the end of a half-hour he was no nearer the solution of 
this problem than he had been any time during the past 
three weeks; but he was in a calmer frame of mind: so he 
remounted the steps, and proceeded once more toward his 
wife’s apartments. 

Little Felix was unusually restless that night ; and Maggie 
was still up, trying to lull him to sleep with deceitful prom- 
ises of a “ coach and four little ponies, white and gray, 
black and bay,” when he should awake again. But the 
promised reward did not seem to be much of an inducement 
to the young gentleman ; for his eyes were very wide open, 
and very bright with saucy defiance, as he listened unmoved 
to the coaxing lullaby. 

A slight tap on the window caused Mrs. Walworth to 
emit one of an inexhaustible' stock of ready-made screams 
she always kept on hand for emergencies. 

•^It is I, — Alfred!” said a voice from the outer dark- 
ness. 

Then the frightened scream was supplemented with one 
of delight ; and, in the space of a minute and a half, Mr. 
Walworth was admitted to the bosom of his family, and had 
Maggie clinging convulsively to his neck, laughing and cry- 
ing and exclaiming, all in a breath. Before lie w^as allowed 
to sleep that night, his voluble little wife had told liim 

every thing , — from the arrival of that horrid newspaper, 
to her fainting, and the coming of that angelic Miss 
Brandon, and the telegram, and her misery when she 
thought him dead, and her bliss when she knew him alive, 
and her repentance for every naughty thing she had done 
since she liad been his wife, and her settled resolve to be a 
model wife for the future, and her eager desire that lie 
should know and love that sweet Miss Brandon, and — 
and, in short, every thing. 

In exchange for which verbal generosity, Mr. Walworth 
stingily explained that he and Mr. Somers had taken pas- 
sage on the ill-fated steamer, and had registered their names. 


AG'AINST THE WORLD. 


283 


but had afterwards seen fit to go by rail : hence the mistake 
which^ bad cost liis wife so dearly. And Maggie fell asleep 
that night with a profound conviction of special providences. 

What would become of people in polite society if it were 
not for the blessed facility with which masks can be adjusted? 

Mr. Walworth had Miss Brandon at something of a dis- 
advantage ; for he had twelve long hours in which to pre- 
pare himself for the rencounter, which took her entirely un- 
awares. 

Coming down rather later than usual, — for the night just 
gone had not been a restful one to her, — Essie entered the 
breakfast-room, and, to her infinite confusion, found herself 
once again in the presence of Alfred Walworth, who, with 
his wife, sat awaiting her coming before breaking their fast. 

There she is now!” exclaimed Maggie, springing up 
with eager delight as the opening door admitted the good* 
Samaritan who had ministered to her in her time of sore 
need. 

A slight pause, a quickening of treacherous pulses, a 
blanching of tlie soft, fair cheek, an heroic striving for self- 
control, and then stately Esther, full panoplied in the armor 
of calm dignity, glided forward, and held out a hand in 
greeting to the restored master of Belton. 

I believe, that, in the miserable confusion of the past 
few days, I have had no opportunity to tell Mrs. Walworth 
that you and I need no introduction. Let me add a friend’s 
sincere congratulations to those I know you have already 
received from that little lady.” The words were spoken 
with an easy coolness that surprised no one more than 
Esther’s self. 

Am I really ossifying?” she asked herself. 

^Ms this calmly dignified woman of the world the sorrow- 
bowed creature my heart jmarned over so last night ? ” 
asked Alfred Walworth of himself. 

But, hapj)ily, Maggie was present; and a much-needed 
safety-valve she was. 

You know Alfred, and never told me so ! ” Her wide- 
open eyes expressed astonishment, but nothing more. 

^‘Was not an old-time acquaintanceship a very trivial 
matter of comment in the presence of your great sorrow?” 
asked Essie, sjiiiliiig bravely down on Alfred’s wife as she 
repudiated the one tender memoiy of her life. 


284 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Yes ; but” — 

But,” interrupted Alfred, who was fairly wincing under 
these personalities, suppose you accept, unquestioning, the 
wonderful fact, that Miss Brandon and your sister-in-law 
are old schoolmates and dear friends, and that, one bright 
vacation, the old house at Chester was honored with her 
presence, and then let us proceed to the more important 
discussion of breakfast.” With reckless audacity he had 
taken his cue from Esther, who had shown herself persist- 
ently determined to speak of their former intercourse as of 
an ordinary acquaintanceship. 

This course alone, Essie reasoned, would render their 
chance meetings tolerable in any degree. 

You hungry monster ! Men are always hungry,” said 
Maggie lightly, as she led the way to the table. ^^But 
you haven’t uttered a word of thanks yet to your old friend 
and my new one for all her goodness to me while you were 
drowned.” 

And yet I think she knows that I have cause to be, 
and am, deeply grateful to her;” and Alfred Walworth’s 
dark eyes rested upon Esther’s face for a moment with a 
gaze so intense, that it threatened the overthrow of her 
hardly-won control. 

And so you went to school with Sister Mira,” chattered 
Maggie as she deftly plied the sugar-tongs. “ Isn’t she 
sweet? ” 

She is the dearest girl that ever lived,” answered Esther 
enthusiastically. 

And, oh ! now I come to think of it, maybe you can 
tell me who that owlish-looking girl is in the picture up- 
stairs with Sister Mira. I have asked Alfred half a dozen 
times; but he asks me if I would be any the wiser for 
knowing, and scolds me for idle curiosity.” 

Which are rather strong measures, I think. But that 
is the best picture of Mira extant. — I should think you 
would have a larger one taken from it, and throw that old 
one away. I think I would do it if I were you.” 

Miss Brandon looked very steadily at Alfred during the 
latter part of this suggestive address. 

“ Throw that old thing away ! Why, it is the apple of 
his eye. I believe he would throw me out the window, and 
baby after me, before he would part with that picture.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


285 


Eatlier an exaggerated type of brotherly devotion,” 
said Essie, with something wonderfully like a sneer curling 
her pretty lip. 

Then Mr, Walworth, with dignified composure, begged to 
help Miss Brandon to a piece of fried chicken, and Miss 
Brandon accepted the proffered delicacy in the most un- 
emotional manner possible ; and Maggie buttered a muffin 
with volatile disregard to the fact that not yet had her idle 
curiosity respecting the owlish-looking girl in the picture 
up-stairs been satisfied. 

Hardly had this pre-eminently social breakfast been well 
despatched, when an infant wail from the remote regions of 
the sleeping-apartments smote upon the quick maternal ear ; 
and, with a hasty apology, Maggie darted from the room, 
leaving her husband and guest tUe-a-the. 

For a moment, a painful silence reigned in the room, — a 
silence in which Esther almost fancied the fierce beating of 
her throbbing heart was making itself heard. 

He was standing on the rug, resting one arm upon the 
low mantle-shelf, looking down upon her, trying once more 
to solve the problem of whether to speak or not. 

A sudden uplifting of the girl’s pure eyes, a hardly per- 
ceptible quivering of the sweet lips, as Essie sought to break 
the spell that was upon them both by an abortive attempt 
to say something, suddenly determined him. 

“ Essie ! ” Very tenderly he uttered her name. 

The dear old familiar form of address startled, swayed, 
then aroused her. 

Is this generous, Alfred Walworth ? Have you already 
forgotten why I am here under your roof?” And Esther 
was herself again. 

God forbid that I should forget one jot or one tittle of 
your claims to my respect ; nay, my reverence ! But I have 
something to say to you, Esther (I think I have a right 
to call you by that name) ; at least, I think I have some- 
thing that I ought to say to you. And yet, God help me ! 
clumsy dolt that I am, I have not the nice perception to 
decide whether, though my speech might be silver, my 
silence might not be golden. 

want to help you, Essie, to do you good, to extend 
that guardianship over you thatyouneed, my heart’s chosen 
one, if you will but let me. Listen to me calmly, please j for 


286 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


I see the monstrous misconception of my meaning in your 
blanching face, Essie. Wliat pitiful esteem you must hold 
me in ! — me, the man who would gladly lay down his life at 
any moment for jmur dear sake. Do you know why I was 
summoned to Chester ? ’’ 

A half inaudible “ No ” was all her answer. 

It was to see 1113'- father, whose days on earth are num- 
bered.” 

A nervous thrill convulsed the form of the young girl, 
upon whom he was looking down, hoping to read some 
sign in her countenance telling him whether to stop or go 
on. Her two hands were clasped convulsively together; 
and in breathless agitation she awaited his next words. 

And, Essie, I know the truth now, — the whole tortur- 
ing truth ; and I want to beg your pardon, dear, injured 
Essie, for every harsh thought I have ever entertained 
against you; and I want to ask you to give me a brother’s 
right to befriend you. It is his wish.” He hesitated in 
helpless confusion. 

“What is his wish?” asked Esther in a sharp, ringing 
voice, scorn and just wrath lighting up her face with flash- 
ing beauty. 

“ It is his wish that 3^011 share his fortune evenly with 
Mira and myself.” 

“And is it you, you, Alfred Walworth, who once formed 
my ideal of manhood, that dare come to me with the base prop- 
osition of moneyed compensation for the shame of a mother, 
the blasting of my own innocent life; you, who but just 
now spoke to me in accents of tenderness ; you, who ask 
to befriend me, yet choose to insult me ; you, who might 
have spared me this last bitter degradation ; you, whom 
I loved so in the long-ago ; you, whom I have so pitied 
for having to bear your share of ti4s cruel dispensation ; 
you, whom I would have spared eveiy' pang, — you come to 
me, and crush me to the earth with the Ibitterness of know- 
ing that my degradation is no longer a secret between me 
and the author of my woes ! ” 

Then the flashing eyes were veiled under \the tremulous 
lids, and the pure face that was dyed with the shame of 
another’s guilt was bowed upon the white hands in speech- 
less emotion. 

Crushed by the miscarriage of his well-meant endeavors, 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


287 


Alfred Walworth stood wordless and miserable, in his heart 
cursing the mistaken impulse that had loosed his tongue. 

Presently, with regal dignity, the girPs bowed head was 
uplifted. Her eyes were raised proudly to meet his gaze; 
and in a voice from which all the passionate excitement had 
died away, leaving it calm and sweet, she bared her soul 
before her old-time lover. 

Forgive me, Alfred. In my frenzy of mortification, I 
am afraid I have wronged you. You meant it for the best ; 
I can see that now : but it was a terrible mistake, — the 
mistake of a man who understands nothing of the nice 
organization of a woman’s soul. What his motive was in 
confessing his baseness to his own son, I cannot fathom. 
It would have been truer kindness to me to have let you die 
in ignorance of it. 

As the world looks at such things, on me alone, now 
that the grave has mercifully closed over my erring mother, 
should rest the stain. But I take my stand against the 
world. My life has been one long struggle ; but in that 
struggle I have taken for my watchwords truth, duty, and 
honor; and I have lived my watchwords. Has Mira, the 
tenderly-reared, love-sheltered child of wedlock, done more? 
In my dealings with my fellow-beings, justice and charity 
has been my motto ; and I have acted up to my motto. 
Has that petted child of fortune up-stairs, your wife, Alfred 
Walworth, done more ? When God in his might first laid 
this heavy cross upon my weak shoulders, I shivered and 
trembled under its cruel weight, arraigning high Heaven for 
injustice and mercilessness ; but yet a little while, and I con- 
quered my rebellious soul, and have learned to bow me to 
the inevitable unmurmuringly and patiently. Have you, 
Alfred Walworth, the strong man, whose share of this bur- 
den is light by comparison, learned to do as much? Was 
my soul not created by the same God, in the same heaven, 
whence came your baby Felix? Was my baby-heart less 
pure than his is now? And if, in spite of desertion, pov- 
erty, and despair, I have kept my soul and heart ^ unspotted 
from the world,’ shall I not claim my rightful share of the 
world’s respect ? I claim my place in the great universal 
■family as a co-heir to its honors with the proudest scion 
of nobility. I will not slink through its by-ways and alleys 


288 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


with bowed head and humble mien, .crushed to the earth by 
the wrong-doing of others. 

“ I have suffered — God, the searcher of hearts, alone 
knows how I have suffered — during the past four years. 
But I think I have grown strong through that suffering, — 
not all at once, hut by long and persistent wrestling with 
a murmuring heart and stubborn soul. But the victory is 
mine at last, I hope and believe. And never did I feel 
surer of it than at this moment, Alfred Walworth, when 
I can look you, the man I have so loved, calmly in the face, 
and bare my soul thus before you. It was with acute pain 
that I heard of your coming across my path again j and 
I knew then, by token of that pain, that my victory was 
not complete. I longed to get away from the spot that 
had proved a peaceful asylum to me before a strange fate 
sent you hither. When chance threw us together that 
day upon the roadside, I learned, to my bitter humiliation, 
that the task of tearing your image from my sinful heart 
had been but clumsily performed. But I did not cease my 
prayerful struggles. When the false news of your death 
reached us, for one little moment I thought of you as a per- 
ished lover, then only as a lost husband and father. And 
now, now, Alfred Walworth, I can look you in the face with 
unquailing eyes, and swear before high Heaven that my 
heart is purified from the old-time love, — a passionate, cov- 
etous love ; and in its stead has come a tender yearning for 
your welfare, a pure, unselfish love, that would gladly 
watch over you, aid you, and lead you onward and upward 
toward a higher and better life than you are leading now, 
dear friend. 

“ There is no treason to your chosen wife in this feeling 
or in my heart. You have selected her from among all. 
women to be the honored bearer of your name, the mother 
of your children, the companion of your life. As such, she 
is entitled to your tenderest consideration in thought, word, 
and in deed ; as such, I bow to her superior exaltation. Nor 
would I blush to have her read my inmost soul, provided she 
be one of those rare women who can understand and feel for 
a less fortunate sister. 

Margaret Walworth has everything, — you, her beauti-. 
fill boy, fortune, and a home. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


280 


All these tilings are wanting to me. Surely I may eat 
of the crumbs which fall from her table. From her plenty 
may she not spare me the precious boon of a friend? That 
is all I ask, all I crave. And I would be your friend, 
claiming the right to remind you of your buried talents, 
your lost opportunities, your frittered life ; claiming the right, 
O my friend of magnificent possibilities ! to encourage you 
to throw off your unworthy cynicism and inertness, and 
take a higher place in the world’s broad field, in the great 
battle of life.” 

She ceased speaking. Her voice, toward the last, had 
grown tremulous with its burden of earnest feeling. Her 
eyes glowed like stars in the midnight heavens. The fervor 
of inspiration had transformed her into a beautiful Pytho- 
ness. 

In rapt silence had Alfred Walworth gazed and listened. 
Her glowing eloquence, for a moment, fired his heart with 
answering enthusiasm. Could, he not be as strong as this 
fragile woman? might he not yet be ? Was there not yet 
call for soldiers in ^Hhe world’s broad field of battle”? 
With her to aid, exhort, encourage, might he not yet write 
Excelsior” upon his banner? Then came the crushing 
might have been.” With her for a wife, glorious, indeed, 
had been the possibilities of his life ; without her, supine- 
ness, lethargy, failure ! And the flicker of glorious enthu- 
siasm was choked out by the powerful weight of confirmed 
inertia ; and his worded answer, when it came, was but a 
poor response to her earnest exhortation. Gloomy his eyes, 
and gloomy his voice, as he said, — 

It is too late ! ” . 

Alfred Walworth!” and the fair Pythoness rose up 
before him, laying one white hand impressively upon his 
own : — 

“ For the soul that springs upward, and yearns to regain 
The pure source of spirit, there is no ‘Too late.’ ” 


Then that white hand was clasped in a fervent grasp, and 
raised to Alfred Walworth’s bearded lip as he solemnly regis- 
tered a vow, that, God willing, he would prove to her that 
her words had not fallen upon stony ground. 

19 


290 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


“ Be my friend, my steadfast friend, my beautiful inspira- 
tion, and the magnificent possibilities you accredit me with 
may yet prove massive realities/^ 

And a pair of frightened, wondering eyes glanced in upon 
the pair unnoticed; and Maggie Walworth caught the 
deep tones of her husband’s voice, saw the bearded mouth 
pressed reverently to the beautiful white hand, noted the 
glowing glance that was fastened upon Esther’s beautiful 
face, and read the secret of those two with the quick insight 
of a jealous heart. 

A low moan of pain escaped from the child-wife’s lips : 
then she turned, and fled back to her room, where she flung 
herself down by the cradle of her idol, weeping and sobbing 
her wounded heart away. 

Let us die, my baby ! — die, and go away from them ! 
He does not care for us : he would not grieve. This beau- 
tiful thief has stolen him from us, and filled his soul. He 
did not even see me. Why don’t she go ? Why did she 
stay ? Because, poor fool ! I begged her to stay and rob 
me. She’s so beautiful, and so wicked, and ” — 

A tap at Mrs. Walworth’s door. 

A slight pause ; then a steady Come in ! ” 

Calm and serene, habited for her ride home. Miss Bran- 
don made her appearance. 

You have delayed your return so long, that I presumed 
your tyrant would not let you return to us : sD I have come 
here to bid you good-by.” And she held out her hand in 
farewell. 

It was a new Maggie, quiet and grave, that put out a bit 
of a hand, thanked Miss Brandon again for her kindness, 
and said “ Good-by ” in a strangely quiet voice. 

But Essie stooped to kiss the little woman, looking very 
calm and very innocent, which Maggie set down as so many 
indications of hardness and boldness. 

She was gone ! And the injured wife passionately wiped 
that kiss from her lips. 

She dared kiss me ! — leave a Judas kiss upon my lips ! 
I know their secret now; but I will perish before they shall 
know how they’ve stabbed me. It will kill me soon : oh ! 
I know it will. I hope it will ! No, no ! God and baby, for- 
give me ! I would not go and leave you behind, my boy, 
my comforter, my idol.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


291 


The excitement of the past few days, with its alternations 
of sorrow and joy, and now this last, worst trouble, proved 
too much for her fragile 'physique ; and when, having seen 
Miss Brandon off, Alfred sought his wife’s presence, he 
found her prostrate upon the bed, muttering and moaning 
in a strangely incoherent fashion. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 
fate’s handmaiden. 

As may be imagined, it was not in the calmest frame of 
mind that Esther Brandon wound her way slowly home- 
ward through the forest bridle-path, that looked bare and 
bleak enough in its mid-winter ugliness. As she rode 
along, she pondered retrospectively. 

When Mrs. Golding had written to her old preceptress 
for a teacher for her children, and Madame Celestine had 
so strongly urged her acceptance of the situation, her prin- 
cipal motive for yielding to this urgency had been to tear 
herself loose from all old associations ; to remove far from 
her all reminders of that one terrible episode in her life ; 
and to put between her and Alfred Walworth such a dis- 
tance, that the probability of their ever meeting again 
would almost amount to an impossibility. She had found 
Le Noir a haven of rest and quiet ; when, lo ! the divinity 
that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will,” had 
put at nought all her plans, and directed his steps to her 
place of refuge. 

Did she regret it ? At first, yes. It had cost no little 
pain to contemplate the possibility of meeting him. But, 
now that the possibility had become a reality, she believed 
she was rather glad than otherwise. This actual contact 
with the idol of earlier days had done her good. It had 
destroyed the glamour that enveloped the past, and enabled 
her to accept the present with much more calmness than, 
before his coming, she could have believed possible. She 
had been face to face with him now in the presence of his 
292 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


293 


wife ; and the ordeal had not proved fatal. She had lis- 
tened, hour after hour, to the feeble chatter of that wife, 
whose talk was all of him, — her Alfred, her husband, her 
possession, — and jet lived. This married Alfred Walworth 
— with the hard, cold face, whose wife she had tended, 
whose child she had caressed — seemed like, yet unlike, 
the old-time Alfred, who had been all her own. She was 
glad she had come in contact witli him in his new life. 
The present was real, palpable, and earnest. The past was 
unreal, impalpable, and hideoils : let it be obliterated from 
the record of her life. 

She had been carried away this morning. She had not 
meant to do aught but vindicate her own defiant position 
against the world; but, fired by the electric spark of 
opportunity,’’ she had gone on to plead with him for the 
fulfilment of his life’s fair promise. She had gathered 
enough from Maggie’s idle gossip to read the story of his 
home-life. All was not as it should be ; and she had 
striven by a few earnest words to improve matters for them 
both. 

She had promised him to be his friend, — his steadfast 
friend ; and she would be it. She would write him long, 
kindly, friendly letters, — letters that he and his wife might 
read together; for (and tired Esther heaved a sigh of 
relief) her sojourn on Le Noir was rapidly drawing to a 
close. A few more weeks, and she would bid farewell to 
its quiet banks and the gentle-hearted dwellers thereon, 
and go about her life-work. Eagerly she looked forward 
to it. Work, work, — life’s great panacea for all the ills 
the human heart is heir to, — was what she wanted, what 
she craved, what she must have. 

One more duty she had to perform before leaving the 
neighborhood; and it was one from which she shrank, put- 
ting off the evil hour until the very last moment : that 
duty was the execution of old Dinah’s commission. 

It was not an easy nor a pleasant task to go to the blind 
master of the Oaks, and sow the seeds of suspicion in his 
gentle heart against the sister who had been all in all to 
him now for so many sad years. But if, as old Dinah 
firmly believed, Koger Etheridge had a daughter living, — 
a child who was being defrauded of her name, her home, 
and a father’s love, by this same good sister, — was it not 


294 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


imperatively her duty to place in his hands the clew to that 
child’s fate ? Had she done right in being so tardy about 
this thing ? She thought she had : for she had waited for 
some chance confirmation of the nurse’s charge against Mrs. 
Somers ; and it had come in the wild ravings of her sup- 
posed bereavement. Amy, Amy, is this your vengeance ? ” 
and ^“^For this have I sinned?” 

Those words had sealed Estella Somers’s fate and Esther 
Brandon’s resolution. Nor was there hope of accomplish- 
ing the desired end by proxy. She had sounded Miss Gaily 
sufficiently to he convinced, that, if intrusted to her, the 
package would be unquestioningly handed over to Mrs. 
Somers. 

And where, then, the hope of righting the wronged ? 

But one more day remained of Esther’s allotted stay 
with the good people at Locust Grove, between whom and 
herself had sprung up a sincere attachment. 

On that day she asked for the carriage to ride over to 
the Oaks to make her farewell visit, and to return the 
books that kind-hearted Mr. Etheridge had continued to 
send her from time to time. This time she carried with 
her the fateful package. How it was to be delivered was 
not yet clear to her. 

Arrived at the Oaks, she was received with the usual 
amount of sincere welcome by Mr. Etheridge alone. 

‘‘ The ladies,” he told her, had just been driven over 
to Belton by Frederic on a visit to Mrs. Walworth, who 
was rumored to be quite ill.” 

The cause of their absence was lost sight of by Esther 
in wohdering consideration of what seemed to her like a 
God-sent opportunity to accomplish the ends of justice. 

‘‘ I am so glad ! ” was her apparently heartless remark. 

“ Glad ! ” repeated the blind man incredulously. 

“Yes, sir, glad,” replied Esther, plunging headlong into 
her subject : “ not that Mrs. Walworth is sick, of course ; nor 
yet that I shall lose this opportunity to say ‘ Good-by ’ to 
dear Miss Call}'', and your sister, and Mr. Somers ; but because 
their absence, Mr. Etheridge, affords me an opportunity, that 
otherwise I might never have found, of telling you some- 
thing that has been weighing very heavily upon me ever 
since before your return from Europe.” 


AGAIN8T THE WORLD. 


295 


Tliey were seated in the library by this time ; and Mr. 
Etheridge’s voice was full of kind encouragement as be 
replied, “My dear young lady, bow I thank 3 mu for }mur 
frank trust in me ! I know all of your story that my cousin 
is possessed of, and would gladly aid you in any way you 
may point out toward the fulfilment of your life-plans.” 

“Dear, good Mr. Etheridge,” answered Essie in a gentle 
voice, “bow my heart thanks jmu for jmur goodness! But 
it is nothing that concerns myself: it relates to ^mu, Mr. 
Etheridge, — you and your great life-trouble.” 

A deadly pallor overspread Roger Etheridge’s fine face ; 
and his thin, nervous hand groped about helplessly in the dark 
until it clasped Esther’s soft, warm palm. Then he spoke in 
a voice hoarse with emotion : — 

“ Me and my life-trouble ! ’ What do you know, what can 
you know, a girlish stranger, of my great life-trouble ? ” 
Softly Essie brought her other hand to close upon the 
feverish one that he had placed within her grasp as she 
answered, — 

“Very strangely", indeed, Mr. Etheridge, have I come in 
possession of what I am now going to tell you. But I be- 
lieve it to be true. Will you try to listen to me calmly ? ” 

“ Hold a minute ! You have shaken my soul to its centre : 
give me a little while to compose myself. It is not jmur 
words alone, child, it is your touch, — the touch of long, slen- 
der, lissome fingers, — your voice, so like to hers : they tlirill 
me with the bitter-sweet remembrance of the loved and lost. 
It pleased me to fanc}^, when I found you here, that your 
face and form might be hers too ; but Estella tells me not. 
Her hair was dark : yours, they say, is golden. Her eyes were 
sad with the burden of sorrows manifold : yours, they tell me, 
dance with the fires of youth and hope. She was a Juno in 
bearing : ^mu, they say, are petite. But why do I maunder 
on about a disappointed fancy, — I, whose cup of life lias been 
filled to the brim with disappointments?” 

In unmitigated astonishment had Esther listened to this 
false portraiture of herself Why it had been given, it was 
beyond her to fathom ; nor did she care to do so, in view of 
the far more important matter she had in hand: so she dis- 
missed it with a jest. 

“Your sister, 1 fancy, painted my portrait for you, dear 
Mr. Etheridge, before she had ever taken a satisfactory in- 


296 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


ventory of my physical possessions, else she could hardly 
have applied the term ^ golden ’ to my nearly black hair, nor 
the adjective ^ petite^ to my almost ungainly height. But 
that is of ever so little importance. Will you listen to me 
now ? 

I am ready,’^ answered the blind man, loosing his hold 
upon the young girl’s hands, and assuming an attitude of 
the most rapt attention. 

Do you remember old Dinah, Mr. Etheridge, — the 
nurse who accompanied your wife when she left home ? ” 

I do ! Go on ! quick ! What of her ? ” 

“ I was thrown accidentally into her way one day last 
summer, during a ramble in the woods ; and the old woman 
took an unaccountable fancy to me, choosing to imagine 
that I resembled the dead mistress whom she had loved so 
faithfully to the' hitter end. 

Her sole desire on earth seemed to be to live to see you 
\ once more. Her mistress, on her death-bed, had given her a 
letter, making her swear solemnly that in your hands, and 
in no one’s but yours, would she place it. She came home, 
and, to her bitter disappointment, found you gone. Year 
after year, she said, she had lived on in the patient hope 
that you would come home. She said she had sent you such 
messages, through Miss Cally, as ought to have brought you 
home, had you any heart left. At last, when she was con- 
vinced that her days were numbered, she sent for me, told 
me all that I have told you, and confided to me the trust 
that your absence and her death alone prevented her fulfil- 
ling in person. She gave me that letter ; making me swear 
solemnly, in my turn, that into your hands alone would I 
deliver it. I suggested Miss Cally as a more fitting person 
for this duty. She vehemently protested that Miss Cally 
should not have it. I asked her why. She said Miss Cally 
would deliver it over to Mrs. Somers. ^ And why not?’ I 
asked. Her reply I give to you without comment, repeating 
it only from a solemn sense of the binding force of a 
death-bed promise. ^ Miss Stella was no friend to my poor 
Miss Amy in her lifetime. They say master is blind. That 
letter would never reach him if it passed into Miss Stella’s 
keeping.’ ” 

Esther stopped speaking. The heavy, labored breathing 
of the powerfullj^-agitated man smote audibly upon the still- 
ness of the room. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


297 


“ And that letter ? 

Is here/’ answered Fate’s fair handmaiden, laying the 
package in the eagerly outstretched hand as she spoke. 

And I am blind ! I am blind ! ” moaned the unhappy 
man, clasping his treasure in feverish haste. 

Then words of hope and comfort sprang to Esther’s lips. 

Do you know your blindness to be incurable, dear Mr. 
Etheridge ? ” 

In my wretchedness I have not cared to inquire.” 

But now you have an incentive ? ” 

^^Yes; but the weary months of waiting and of probable 
failure ! ” 

“Better that than trust the reading of a dying wife’s con- 
fession to profane eyes,” said Esther boldly. 

“ You are right, sweet monitor ; and if there be aught in 
man’s boasted skill, please God, these veiled eyes may still 
be blessed with the sight of my pardon, written by that be- 
loved hand before it lost its cunning.” 

Then Esther got up to go away. She felt an unconquer- 
able disinclination to meeting Mrs. Somers now : so, with 
loving regrets for Miss Gaily, and grateful thanks to him- 
self for his many kindnesses, she re-entered the carriage, 
and, by daybreak next morning, was many miles away from 
the Goldings, the Wal worths, and the people of the Oaks. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

RESOLUTE ACTION. 

When Esther had tenderly pressed the hand of Roger 
Etheridge, bidden him a grateful good-by, and gone out 
from his presence, she had left him wrapped in a sort of 
trance. She had made her communication purposely as 
concise as possible, desiring her own share in the whole 
affair to be strictly limited to the delivery of Dinah’s mes- 
sage and the letter. She had purposely avoided all mention 
of the daughter, who, the nurse protested, was not dead, 
fearing that, in that matter, some mistake might lie hidden, 
and rightly judging that the letter would give him all neces- 
sary information on that point. 

So, as the blind man sat alone in his luxurious library, 
holding the letter with its faded inscription in a nervous 
clasp, as if fearing it might yet escape him, passionately 
longing to know its contents, mournfully deploring the af- 
fliction that shut out from^ his eager gaze the dying con- 
fession of his unhappy wife, he dreamed not of a living 
joy in store for him, thinking only to be soothed by the sight 
of words of pardon for the cruel haste with which he had 
passed sentence upon the fragile creature whom he had taken 
to his bosom for better or worse. Chaos reigned in his 
mind. The curious chance that had brought this young 
stranger as a mediator between him and his dead; the 
warning not to trust Estella, — the sister who had been true 
as steel to him through the misery of what seemed a lifetime ; 
Amy’s prayer that the reading of her letter should not be 
intrusted to that sister ; Estella’s strange misrepresentation 
298 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


299 


of Esther Brandon’s personal appearance, — all these dis- 
connected items went flitting through his troubled mind in 
a sequence of their own making, hardly thought of at the 
time, totally uncommented upon in absorbing contemplation 
of the marvellous fact that he held in his hand, after weary 
years of vexed pondering, the answer to the question. Had 
he done right ? Her own confession alone could put at rest 
the doubts that had torn and harassed his soul in spite of 
Estella’s ready assurances that the course he had pursued 
was ^Hhe one course open to him as a gentleman.” 

And, now that Amy had sent him an answer, — from the 
grave, as it were, — he was powerless to receive it. 

Could he but have that precious letter read to him before 
he slept ! Suspicion is a rank weed of rapid growth. So 
readily had it taken root in Boger Etheridge’s soul, that not 
for a moment did he entertain the idea of telling Estella 
any thing of that morning’s event. He remembered only 
too well that never a word of sympathy had she expended 
upon the wife he had repudiated. He remembered, that, 
when his own soul had leaned to mercy’s side, she had 
laughed his relenting spirit to scorn, hardening his heart 
again by her sneers at the beautiful adventuress who had 
entrapped him.” Ho : Estella was no friend of his dead 
Amy’s ; and he made no doubt that it was but a womanly 
shrinking from baring her soul before the gaze of another 
woman, and that other woman not a friend, that had made his 
wife expressly exclude her sister-in-law from participation in 
her confession. It pleased her remorseful husband to think 
that he had it in his power, even at this late day, to comply 
with a request of hers. Estella should not read her letter. 
Miss Cally, then — was but an amiable, gossipy little woman, 
who would make his wife’s dyiflg words matter of confiden- 
tial gossip between herself and her cousin. 

Boger Etheridge, you cruelly underrate the strength of 
that little woman’s character, and her own lifetime devotion 
to your unconscious self. 

So who was there left but Frederic? — a good-hearted, 
boisterous, gay young man of the world. That were dese- 
cration indeed ! 

Ho : he would place himself under the best opticians in 
the country. If their boasted skill could give him back the 
lost blessing of sight, he would feast in secret over the 


300 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


treasure Esther Brandon had put into his possession : if 
not. to her — the soft-hearted, gently-sympathetic stranger; 
whose sweet voice had told his Amy’s last wishes with such 
tender feeling — would lie go for help. 

The rumbling of the returning carriage startled him from 
his revery. With nervous haste he slipped the package into 
the breast-pocket of his coat; and when his sister came 
gliding up to him with the grace of a beautiful snake, utter- 
ing her hopes that he had not wanted for any thing during 
her absence, he answered her so calmly and quietly, that it 
would have taken a keener spirit of divination than belonged 
even to Estella Somers to fathom the fact that the white 
hand which she placed so caressingly on the blind man’s 
shoulder almost touched the letter that was to reveal her to 
her brother for what she was, — a cold, heartless, unprinci- 
pled, beautiful schemer, who had trampled ruthlessly upon 
the laws of God and man to secure to her son, the idol of 
her life, the unlawful possession of a fortune. 

Miss Gaily had remained at Belton, in friendly attend- 
ance on Alfred Walworth’s suffering wife. So it was to 
Mrs. Somers and Erederic alone that Mr. Etheridge an- 
nounced the tidings of Esther’s departure from the Le-Noir 
neighborhood. 

“ Gone ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Somers, whose plan of restitu- 
tion was thus seriously endangered. And did she leave no 
message for Gaily, telling her how she might communi- 
cate with her? You know, they were such very great 
friends I” 

She left a message for Gaily to ride over this evening 
and bid her good-by. But I suppose, now, that is impos- 
sible.” 

“Why?” 

“ She leaves this afternoon, at three, to take the morning’s 
boat at Briarwood ; and, as it is two now, there would be no 
time to convey her wishes to Gaily.” 

“Uncommonly sorry our poor old neighborhood has lost 
its one shining light,” said Mr. Somers lightly ; “ but, 
when Mistress Erederic Somers becomes U7i fait accompli, 
we’ll hunt her up, and bring her back on a visit.” 

Upon which Mrs. Somers snapped. She did not often 
lay aside her calm repose of manner; for the provocation 
must be great that could exalt matter above manner with 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


301 


this highly-polished dame. But this provocation was 
great. 

I had hoped, Frederic, that constant association with 
one so lovely and attractive as Esther Brandon would be 
all that was necessary to obliterate the very memory* of that 
wishy-washy Miss Walworth. But there is no accounting 
for the miserable taste of a very young man.^’ 

Then Fred’s handsome face flushed angrily. 

Have a care, mother, how you insult the woman, who, 
if God spares me, will be your daughter-in-law within the 
next twelvemonth.” 

Estella’s face was brimful of thunder and lightning ; but 
the game she had to play was too vital to be thrown lightly 
away : so, remembering that Fortune seldom favors an angry 
player, she sobered down instantaneously. 

‘‘My dear boy, excuse me for not being able to bear 
always in mind the foolish infatuation that I have too 
much confidence in your good taste to dread much from. 
But indeed, my precious son, any one who could judge im- 
partially between the two young ladies would find it hard to 
understand how a young man who could marry Miss Bran- 
don should choose to marry Miss Walworth.” 

In wrathful silence Frederic left her presence ; and so 
deeply outraged were his feelings, that when his uncle sent 
for him to his sleeping-apartment that night, and asked 
him if he would be his sole companion in a trip he pro- 
jected, Fred gladly promised to accompany him. 

Mrs. Somers was thrown into a state of complete bewil- 
derment the next morning, when Eoger Etheridge, the 
heretofore helplessly-dependent brother, who had been al- 
most like a child in her hands since his affliction had be- 
fallen him, informed her of his suddenly-conceived plan to 
put himself in the hands of an oculist of great note in 
the city of Hew York. “ I feel,” said he, “ as if I had acted 
criminally in yielding supinely to my misery. I felt, at 
one time, as if I would rather be as I am than again look 
upon the world that had proved such a delusion and snare 
to me. It may be that my mad folly will be visited upon 
me now by the frustration of my new-born desire for resto- 
ration to that world; but I shall make the effort neverthe- 
less. If God will bless man’s endeavors in my behalf, I shall 


302 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


once again take my place in the arena of life as a man, and 
strive, by the active fulfilling of my duties, henceforth to 
fill up the dead blank of the past seventeen years/’ 

“ Dear brother, God grant that this wild hope prove not 
a new source of misery to you ! ” said Estella by way of 
wet-hlanketing his enthusiasm. 

“That it cannot prove; for I am prepared beforehand 
for disappointment. But the trial shall be made.” 

“ Then I go with you ! ” said his sister in a resolute voice. 

“ I prefer not,” answered Mr. Etheridge just as resolutely. 

“ Roger ! ” Volumes of reproach found expression in that 
one word. 

“ There is no necessity for it. Travelling at this season of 
the year is far from pleasurable. Frederic has already prom- 
ised to see me ensconced in the infirmary ; after which I shall 
he better alone until this matter he settled. Your companion- 
ship, your expression of opinions, anxieties, and hopes, would 
he agitating and hurtful: therefore, my sister, with full 
appreciation of all you have been to me, I shall have to de- 
cline your presence at this trying time. I shall need all ray 
calmness, all my manhood, to sustain me through this ordeal; 
and these I can best retain separated from the nervous in- 
fluences of a woman who feels almost as acute an interest 
in the success of the experiment as myself. Are not my 
reasons cogent ? ” ' 

“ In the extreme,” replied his sister in an injured voice. 
“ After such powerful logic, I shall confine my scorned assist- 
ance to the humble task of packing your trunk.” 

“Your resentment is unjust, Estella. I am sorry to seem 
ungrateful, but must have my own way in this thing.” 

There was nothing more to be said ; and when, a few days 
later, Mrs. Somers stood upon the veranda, and watched 
the carriage winding its way through the grand old oaks, 
conveying her brother and son on the first stage of this 
empirical journey, she communed thoughtfully with her- 
self : — 

“ Should he recover, I am safe from detection, now that 
this girl has betaken herself out of our world again. But, to 
one chance for success, there are a thousand against it ; for 
which — Hush ! was I about to thank God ? He does very 
well as he is. I would not have him less dependent on me. 


AGAINST THE WOULD. 


303 


If he should ever see that girl ! But he will not ; and 
why should I disquiet myself in vain? Has Fortune be- 
friended me so long to turn her hack upon me now ? I 
believe I grow timorous as I grow older. I must not flag 
now, now that the game is so nearly won. His will 
must be made as soon as he comes home, — that will by 
which, Frederic Somers, you are to reap the fruits of your 
mother’s sacrifice of honor, peace, and conscience.” 


CHAPTER XLV. 


MURMURING HEARTS. 

As patiently and as tenderly as a mother, Miss Ciilly 
nursed Alfred Walworth’s fading wife through a six- weeks’ 
illness, during a part of which time reason had been absent 
from her throne, and Maggie had raved in the most pitiful 
fashion about her wrongs, mingling Esther Brandon’s, her 
husband’s, her own, and her baby’s name together in a de- 
lirious jumble. But she was convalescent now; and the 
wild light was all gone from her eyes, the frenzied anger 
from her lips. She looked very wan and weak and patient ; 
never uttering an impatient word; thanking her attend- 
ants in a low, sweet voice for their slightest service ; quietly 
acquiescent under the gentle attentions which Alfred, 
stung to the quick by the just reproaches of her delirium, 
persistently showered upon her. 

He wished, now that she was herself, she would speak 
out boldly and pettishly after the manner of the old Maggie, 
and afford him an opportunity of explaining away what 
was evidently a painful misapprehension on her part. He 
longed for this more for Esther’s sake than for liis own. 
But she would not speak. She was uniformly quiet, gentle, 
and undemonstrative when he talked to her, or sat by her, 
toying with her little wasted hand ; for that pity which 
is akin to love had entered into his heart, and filled it full 
of tender thoughtfulness for his child-wife. 

The day had come on which Miss Cally considered her 
services could be dispensed with. She bade her sweet pa- 
tient an affectionate farewell, and, accompanied by Alfred, 
304 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


305 


proceeded to the carriage that had been sent for her. Turn- 
ing abruptly to the young man as soon as Maggie’s door 
closed upon -them, she bestowed upon him a bit of friendly 
advice. 

^^Mr. Walworth, will you give an old woman who hasn’t 
lived in this troublesome world fifty years for nought the 
privilege of speaking a few very plain words ? ” 

Alfred readily accorded the desired' permission. 

Something ails that little woman in yonder that all Dr. 
Sparks’s pills and plasters cannot reach. In her delirium 
she has uttered some wild charges against a girl whom 
I believe to be almost too good for this earth. She is evi- 
dently laboring under a mistake that is crushing the life 
' out of her. Go back to her, and win her trouble from her, 
as you alone can ; and if you have done any thing to take 
the bloom from that sweet young face, and the light from 
her wistful eyes, beg her pardon before it is too late. ^ A 
sin confessed is half redressed : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

Mr. Walworth’s face flushed darkly. 

“I have no sins against my wife to confess. I believe 
you are right about a misapprehension on her part, for 
which she alone is responsible.” 

You are angry with me : I see that plainly. And now 
I am going to make you angrier. I ask this not more for 
your wife’s sake than for my dear Esther’s.” 

But she had not made him angrier. His face bright- 
ened ; and he held out his hand frankly. 

Any one who knows and appreciates Esther Brandon 
is an object of admiration and affection to me.” 

But Miss Gaily did not like this speech: so she said 
grimly, Esther Brandon is a noble girl ; and the man 
who would find favor in her eyes must be every inch a 
man, brimful of honor, truth, and cliivalry. But we are chat- 
tering about the absent, when the present needs us most. 
Good-by ! and remember that ^ a candid confession is good 
for the soul : ’ that’s my philosophy.” 

And she was gone. 

Alfred re-opened his wife’s door very softly. Possibly 
she might have fallen asleep. She lay there with very 
wide-open eyes fixed upon the little picture over the mantle 
that contained Mira’s face and her solemn-looking school- 
mate’s. 


20 


306 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Mr. Walworth resumed his seat close by her lounge. 

Then the wide-open eyes travelled from the picture to 
his face. 

I think I know who it is now, Alfred,’’ she said pres- 
ently in the quietest of voices. 

Who, little wife ? ” 

The sad-faced girl in the picture with Sister Mira. It 
is Miss Brandon.” 

Yes, it is Miss Brandon,” answered Alfred. But 
there was no confusion in face or voice; which Maggie 
considered a sad indication of heartless indifference to her 
sufferings. 

She is very beautiful ; far handsomer now than she was 
in that picture.” Poor little woman ! how she felicitated 
herself upon the calm heroism requisite for this bold discus- 
sion of her rival’s charms ! 

I tliink Esther Brandon’s beauty is the smallest of her 
claims to the admiration of the world.” 

Maggie winced. She was not yet prepared for whole-, 
sale eulogy : so she said never a word. But she had broken 
the ice. Alfred, hastily concluding that a candid confession 
might be good for Maggie’s soul, if not for his own, boldly 
followed up the subject. 

“ Little wife, I want to talk to you about Esther Brandon. 
Will you listen to me ? It is for your sake ; for at present 
I know you are harboring in your poor little heart the 
harshest of feelings toward that noble girl.” 

How do you know it ? ” flashed the old-time wife. 

“ By the ravings of your delirium.” 

People should not be held responsible for what they 
say in delirium. It is unkind to remind one of words 
spoken at such times.” 

Then there is no bitterness in your heart against this 
girl ? ” 

“ It is monstrous to talk to me in this way.” 

“ I only ask you to listen to me, my wife, for a little 
while patiently. I ask it for your own sake primarily, and 
then for hers. You will not think me monstrous when I 
get through. May I go on ? ” 

Yes, please,” was the unexpectedly gentle reply. 

Then, touching lightly upon the old-time love, Alfred 
Walworth portrayed in glowing words the trials, the strug- 


AQAINST THE WORLD. 


307 


gies, the triumphs, of the lonely woman, who was an object 
of jealousy to her, the petted child of Fortune ; adding boldly 
and manfully, — 

At one time I would have married Esther Brandon : but 
Fate interposed an insuperable obstacle; and that obstacle 
will divide us through all time and into eternity. I fancy, 
Margaret, that your trouble has sprung from a gross mis- 
understanding of something that passed between us the 
other morning. It had been better, little wife, had you 
heard more. The tenderest friendship must always subsist 
between Esther and myself; but, to use her own words, 
Hhere is no treason to you in that feeling, or in our 
hearts.’ Were you sick or suffering, no truer, fonder nurse 
could you find than Esther Brandon. Did you need a 
friend, fearlessly, with a heart void of offence toward you 
and her God, would she come to you. Is your concep- 
tion of love so gross, so narrow, as to exclude from its sacred 
compass all claimants but our own two wedded selves and 
the small man yonder ? Call it by what name you will, 
— friendship in its truest, warmest, widest sense, — and join 
with me, little wife, in bestowing it heartily upon one who 
is as worthy of it at your hands as at mine.” 

‘‘ You will marry her when I am gone ? ” 

Never! Did I not say that the obstacle which sepa- 
rated us before I ever knew you would last through time 
into eternity ? ” 

Then two emaciated hands were laid upon Alfred’s. 

Husband, I think one’s perceptions grow truer and clear- 
er as one nears the shores eternal ; and the gloss fades from 
earthly desire, revealing its nothingness. I don’t think I 
shall be with you and son very much longer : I feel so help- 
less, so listless, and as if there was no health in me 1 I am 
glad you have spoken to me to-day just as you have. I have 
been unhappy, oh 1 so very unhappy, Alfred dear, since that 
morning, that cruel morning, when, passing the parlor-door 
on my way to rejoin you, I caught the ardent glance of your 
eye, and saw you kiss her fair hand. They tell me she has 
gone away from here. I am not sorry ; for, if she came back 
with her glorious beauty and stately manners, I am afraid I 
could not be sensible and quiet, as I want to be. 

I know, I see now, Alfred, what has been the trouble in 
bur married life. I have been a spoiled child, who failed to 


308 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


put away from her childish things when she became a 
woman. She Avould have helped you onward, upward, where I 
have kept you down. But grand and stately and beautiful 
as she is, 0 my Alfred ! she has not loved you one whit 
more fondly and faithfully than have I. She does not 
need you as do I. Her heart would not break (for it is a 
strong, firm heart) as would mine without you and your love, 
Alfred, my own, my all ! 

Then in the tenderest embrace of all their wedded life did 
Alfred Walworth infold the soft little form, gently smooth- 
ing back the hair from her pale, wan forehead. 

Will you try and believe me, my wife, when I tell you, 
in solemn truthfulness, that the heart upon which you are 
resting is fuller than I knew myself, until this glad moment, 
of pure and loyal affection for yourself? And that I can say 
this much truthfully ; thatmy soul is purified from the mad, 
wild, passionate love of my youth, — is due alone to the exalted 
nature of the woman who inspired that love four years ago, 
and rebuked it grandly when it became a sin.’’ 

^(Then can I, too, join in lauding her name, in that she 
has given me in whole what heretofore I have only shared, 
— my husband’s heart.” 

^‘And you are no longer jealous of Esther Brandon ? ” 
asked Alfred, lifting her face from his shoulder, so that he 
could look straight into her eyes. 

I hope I am not,” was the cautious rejoinder. 

And you will try to be a happy wife, in spite of your 
knowledge that I once did love her, and would gladly have 
made her my wife, resting in the belief that time and the 
resolute struggles of two determined souls have eliminated 
from that old-time love all disquieting elements ? ” 

. “ I will try to.” 

“ And you will accept in good faith your husband’s solemn 
promise, that, so long as God shall spare us both, your claims, 
your rights, your desires, and your happiness, shall be con- 
sidered the first law of his life ? ” 

A tender kiss was all his answer. 

“Do these things,. Maggie, my little wife, and yon will 
prove yourself a wise woman in your generation.” 

And I think from that day dated the union of these 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

A GENERAL SUMMARY. 

Chester. 

A STATELY old house, sombre with its lurking shadows of 
sorrow and remorse; its occupants a suffering, querulous 
paralytic, whose prison-life gives full scope for the stings of 
conscience and the gnawings of remorse ; a sweet-faced, gen- 
tle-browed girl, whose loving heart grows sick with its bur- 
den of hope deferred, pathetically patient under the petty 
trials and wearing duties of her daily life, always striving, 
never murmuring ; and a motherless boy, whose small heart 
has already transferred its loving allegiance from the dead 
to the living. 

Belton. 

Silence and emptiness. Under a trailing white clematis 
down in the old-fashioned garden nestles a two-months-old 
grave. In it sleeps the child-wife of the master, and around 
her last resting-place the Southern summer roses fling their 
sweetest bloom. Very gently and peacefully had she died, 
her arms around her husband’s neck, her failing breath ex- 
haling in prayers for him and baby Felix. Then the mas- 
ter of Belton had closed its doors against the sunshine, had 
placed his orphaned boy under the tender guardianship of 
his sister, and, turning his back upon the past, had thrown 
himself resolutely into the vortex of political life, where his 
fine talents readily commanded the attention and respect of 
his compeers. 


309 


310 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


The Oaks. 

Proverbial Miss Gaily flits about like a sunbeam, utter- 
ing quaint bits of wisdom ; wondering almost daily what has 
become of that dear girl Esther; wishing Estella were a 
degree more companionable, and several degrees less stately ; 
praying fervently in her gentle soul that God will bless the 
efforts of the man who promises so confidently that the 
blind shall see again. 

Mrs. Somers calmly self-possessed, in a state of scheme- 
less quiescence since the disappearance of Esther Brandon 
has frustrated her plan of poetical justice ; rejoicing in that 
disappearance before Roger’s promised restoration to sight 
should have revealed to him this girl’s marvellous resemblance 
to his dead wife, and set him to mischievous investigations. 
Fred very boisterously unhappy because of Mira’s persistent 
refusal to let him become the head of what she -calls ^^her 
helpless family ; ” and, of a truth, even the ardor of a lover 
could not blind him to the fact that a paralytic father and a 
two-year-old child were something of drawbacks to their 
promised felicity. Notwithstanding which, he manfully 
declared his readiness to assume his share of her family 
responsibilities ; to which Mira resolutely and unselfishly 
answered “No.” 

Locust Grove. 

Blessed are the sons of men who have no history : in 
comfortable monotony, in eventless happiness, their days 
pass on. “ Give us this day our daily bread ” is the one prayer 
of their life; and, that bread (for bread read universal 
creature-comforts) being granted, what reck they of the 
outside, restless world, where hearts burn, and brains labor, 
and souls yearn — for what ? To hoard up treasure for the 
moth and rust. 

Newport. 

Newport’s sensation is Miss Brandon, the fair dramatic 
reader, who, with her lady-companion (a widow advanced in 
years, provided for her by motherly Madame Celestine), 
has flitted from city to city, winning golden opinions from 
the press, making warm friends wherever she stopped, 
charming more by her stately beauty and magnificent 
talents than by her gentle reserve and superb dignity. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


311 


The Infirmary. 

Six months of alternate hope and despair j and now the 
day has come when the wise men promised Roger Ether- 
idge he should look once more upon the face of his fellow- 
man. 

The bandages were about to be removed. Were those 
men, with serious voices and deliberate steps advancing to- 
ward his chair, come as the executioners of his last hope, or 
messengers of peace and joy? They touched him; and one 
said kindly and gravely, — 

“We have come, Mr. Etheridge, for the final experiment. 
May God in his mercy bless our efforts ! We are not over- 
confident. Are you prepared for the worst ? ” 

A silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the 
blind man, who recognized this moment as the supreme one 
of his life. In that pause, a prayer for mercy and for pity 
floated upward to the great white throne from Roger Eth- 
eridge’s quivering lips; and it pleases me to fanc}^ that 
Amy, the redeemed, bore it onward to the feet of the 
mighty Judge of heaven and earth, adding her own angelic 
petitions for mercy to the father of her child. 

“ I am ready ; but wait.” And from his breast-pocket he 
extracted Amy’s letter, holding it where it should be the first 
object to impress itself upon his restored retina. 

A few more seconds of breathless silence as the men of 
science unbandaged his longing eyes. . 

“ Well, sir? ” in voices of anxious interest from the doctors. 

“ I can see the folded letter in my hand ; the writing is 
but a blur ; my own hand is plainly visible. Is this success ? ” 
And no pen-and-ink description can do justice to the ringing 
anxiety in the intense tones of his voice. 

“ Thank God ! this is success ; and you will improve 
daily.” 

Tlien again the eyes were bandaged ; and Roger Ether- 
idge submitted peacefully to a period of longer probation : 
for what were a few more days of placid waiting, now that 
the glad certainty of restoration was his? 

Every day the bandages were taken off for a short period 
of time ; every day the period was lengtiiened ; and every 
succeeding day’s experiment proved more satisfactory ; until, 
from a plain white parallelogram whose surface was blurred 


312 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


by a faint black line, bis treasure took distinct form, and 
with his own glad eyes Roger Etheridge read this super- 
ascription in faded-ink characters: — 

To Roger Etheridge. — FrivateP 

Then was the sad story of Amy Wharton’s wrongs, and 
the strange story of Esther Brandon’s childhood, revealed 
by the hand that had long since gone to dust. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 


THE LETTER. 

My Husband, — As I take my pen in a sadly feeble 
grasp to write my dying confession to you, I am solemnly 
impressed with the wisdom of the injunction, ^to take no 
thought for the morrow.’ I have taken thought, pondered 
on, and planned for the morrow ; and here, in a strange 
place, with no one near me but my faithful Dinah, my 
death-warrant has gone out, and my plans have come to 
nought. I know that never again shall I look upon your 
dear face, nor upon my baby-girl’s. God bless her, and 
care for her until you take her back to your bosom ! which 
will be soon now, I know; for her unhappy mother will have 
found rest in the grave by the time this has been conveyed 
to you by my one true friend, my slave Dinah, and will 
no more stand between you and your child. 

‘^Do I write very calmly for a woman who has so much 
to say, and such a short, short while to say it ? I feel calm, 
— so calm, that I wonder at myself. And then I cease to 
wonder; for I know that it is the calm of a soul that is 
almost done with life’s unrest, and can Took forward without 
a tremor to the blessed certainty of a home with the re- 
deemed. ^For I know that my Redeemer liveth.’ 

“ Before I write of myself, before I tell you the misera- 
ble story that you refused to listen to, when on my bended 
knees, Roger, I prayed you to hear me, I must tell you 
about our child ; for, if God should see fit to call me hence 
before my task is done, I shudder to think that you would 
be Dossessed of no clew to her identity or whereabouts. 

313 


314 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


^^When you spurned me from you, my husband, of all 
the cruel things you said to me, the most crushing was your 
solemn declaration, that, when my baby — our baby, E,oger 

— was six years old, you would claim her : until then she 
should be mine. Your words haunted, they maddened me. 
I could take no joy in my beautiful baby for thinking that 
each day that unfolded new charms, and endeared her more 
to my lonely heart, was but bringing nearer and nearer the 
fatal one on which your terrible threat would be put into 
execution. 

At last, from my half-maddened brain I evolved a plan 
of action. I would go to you (it yet wanted some six 
months of her sixth birthday) ; I would compel you to listen 
to me ; I would beseech you, now that God had taken to 
himself the child that was my reproach, to forgive the 
past ; I would pray to be taken back to your home ; for our 
little one’s sake, not mine, E-oger, to be received, on suffer- 
ance, in the home where I had once been an honored mis- 
tress ; to live there, and watch over my child, and see to it 
that her girlhood should have two things that mine lacked, 

— a mother’s prayerful guardianship and a father’s mighty 
protection. But, when I remembered your fierce wrath, I 
dared not put my all to the risk by going to you with my 
baby in my arms, and perchance have her torn from me, 
and myself turned from your doors with fresh curses upon 
my desolate head. So I took my child, Boger, to the good 
woman who had given me all of a mother’s care while un- 
der her charge ; and I told her I wanted to leave my little 
one with her while I took an arduous journey. In my 
mad fear that you might trace my child from the place 
where we had been living, — whence I had written repeatedly 
to Estella, — I manufactured a name for her ; for I dared not 
run the risk of yofiV robbing me of her while I was on my 
way to find you to plead my cause. I left her with Madame 
Celestine, who keeps a girl’s school twenty miles from Ches- 
ter, Penn. ; and I left her there under the false name of 
^ Esther Brandon.’ 

‘^And now, if I never complete another sheet of this 
letter, my baby is safe. Old Dinah has sworn to me to 
hasten on to the Oaks, and place this in your hands, as soon 
as she shall have seen me decently buried. And I know 
she will do it j for she is faithful and true. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


315 


And now, Eoger Etheridge, the one true love of my 
life, let me, in dying, try to remove from me the burden of 
your contempt, not all deserved, my husband, as I could 
have convinced you in the long-ago, would you have but 
listened to me. 

I will go no farther back than to the time when I, a 
dependent orphan, was domesticated in the house of my 
uncle Eichard Walworth’s widow. It was in accordance 
with his death-bed request, that I was taken, on the com- 
pletion of my education, into his own family ; for my mother 
had been a dear relative of his. But his widow, though 
complying with the letter of his request, failed in the spirit. 
I tried to make my life seem less dependent by doing all 
in my power for my haughty benefactress ; and I believe, 
. s a useful companion, she fully appreciated me. 

When I had been with her some few months only, her 
son, the idol of her life, Philip Walworth, returned from 
college. Proximity and constant association were followed 
by the usual results. We became attached to each other ; 
and he asked me to marry him. I consented ; and we be- 
came engaged. He announced to his mother his intention 
of marrying me ; and her wrath was terrible to behold. I 
was driven from her protection with scorn and contumely. 
I found refuge with a maiden aunt in most reduced circum- 
stances. Philip found me out, and prosecuted his suit with 
ardor. He pleaded for a private marriage. I was young, 
weak, and very much in love. I yielded. He returned 
with a young clergyman (a college chum, he said), who 
donned the white robes of a priest, and made me the wife 
of Philip Walworth. 

My husband staid with me a month that time ; then 
left me, returning at various intervals to see me ; always 
holding out to me hopes and promises of soon taking me 
honorably into his mother’s home. Then his visits grew 
rarer and rarer; the intervals between, longer and longer; 
then ceased, leaving me niaddened by the knowledge that 
I was about to become a mother. I travelled to Chester to 
plead for mercy at his hands. My life was very nearly the 
forfeit for that journey. I sent for him. He came, not 
knowing who it was that wished to see him. 

My treacherous brain refused its office in the supreme 
moment ; and, after greeting him by name, I but muttered 


316 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


in the incoherence of delirium. When I again became con- 
scious, they told me two weeks had elapsed. I sent for 
him again : he had gone to Europe. Back to my home 
with my aunt I journeyed so soon as I dared. A few 
months afterward my child was born. In my agoii}^ I 
sought out the clergyman who had performed the ce’iiemony. 
Pity my horror-stricken soul, wlien, with brutal levity, he 
apologized for having assumed the sacred office of priest for 
that one occasion only. But he had felt sure, he said, ^ that 
Philip would liave made it all right.’ Then I heard for the 
first time that Philip Walworth had taken a wife with him 
to Europe. I tore myself loose from all old associations ; 
and, in a far-distant State, Mrs. Wharton the widow, with 
her little child, found occupation as a teacher, and won 
friends by the conscientious performance of her duties and 
the blamelessness of her life. When you came across my 
path, Poger Etheridge, and, with your noble face and cour- 
teous manners, won my sad heart so completely, it never 
entered into my wildest dreamings that the poor gift of 
beauty that was still mine could prove an attraction in your 
eyes : but it did ; and, when you asked me to become your 
wife, you will remember I asked for three days in which to 
consider my reply. Those three days, my Roger, were spent 
by my most wretched self in frenzied strivings after 
strength to tell you the whole truth. But the strength was 
not granted me ; and when you came again, offering me the 
blessed shelter of your love, I could not refuse : O Roger ! 
I could not. It was not in me to put from me you, your 
love, and the blessed shelter of a home. Therein I sinned, 
and my sin found me out. The angels of heaven were- not 
happier than was I tliose five blissful years of our union. 
Then that fiend, the man wlio had mocked God’s holy min- 
istry for my contusion, found out that I had married a man 
of wealth ; and the letter that in my ignorance I gave you 
to read was a threatening demand from him for money. 

“ Oh the wild %goiiy of that time ! But I dreamed of 
winning your pardon even then ; for in my own stricken 
soul I knew that I had been more sinned against than sin- 
ning. And I knew that you had loved me ; and, where we 
love much, we can forgive much. So, when you tlirust 
me away from you, I sought Estella Somers, knowing 
her great influence with you, and bowed myself in supplica- 


AGAINST THE WORLD, 


317 


tion before her, begging her to intercede for me ; but her 
heart was as a stone. And then I went back to the aunt 
who had been a friend to me through all my desolate life. 
And soon it pleased God to take back to himself that child, — 
his child : and I could not grieve, E,oger ; for the wild hope 
sprang-up in my heart, that now it would be easier to win 
your pardon for the hideous past. I wrote to Estella, 
telling her the child was dead, once more pleading with her 
to obtain me a hearing. Once more she coldly refused the 
office of mediator ; and I was forced to think that old Dinah 
was right when she said, ^ Mistress, Miss Stella’s not the 
one to help you back to your home. Ef you and master was 
to be joined together again, every child you had would les- 
sen her .son’s chance of the property: now one little life is 
all that’s ’twixt him and the property.’ The old woman’s 
words were a revelation to me; and she has sworn to me 
most solemnly that this letter shall never pass into the 
hands of my unnatural sister-in-law, Estella- Somers. 

All the rest you know. My plan of finding you out, and 
kneeling before you until you uttered the words of pardon 
I have so yearned to hear, has been frustrated by God. So 
let it be. ^He doeth all things well.’ My hand trembles ; 
my strength fails me. Hasten, my beloved Roger, to take 
home to your heart and protection our daughter ; and when 
you press her to your heart, when you recognize in her 
beauty and angelic disposition the promise of a bright fu- 
ture, when the home you prepared for your undeserving 
wife shall be crowned with the light of her daughter’s 
purer presence, may y6u find it in your heart to forgive 
the unhappy woman who has made her peace with God, 
and who but asks ^ that man shall not be more just than 
his Maker ’ ! ” 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

IN WHICH ESSIE GIVES HER MOST EFFECTIVE READING. 

For an hour, or more maybe, Esther Brandon’s father (or 
rather Estella Etheridge’s,” to call her at last by the name 
given her by her sponsors in baptism) Continued in a sort 
of rapt revery, with his wife’s letter open on the table before 
him, while the past, dating from his wedding-morning 
up to this wonderful hour, passed in shadowy panorama 
before him, — a long succession of sorrow-burdened days, 
joy-gilded seconds ; a sad array of mistakes, of rash action, 
of pride-horn mercilessness ; and, last of all, the marvellous 
workings of over-ruling destiny, that had brought to him 
the knowledge that his declining years were to he blessed 
by a daughter’s love, by the hand of that daughter herself. 

“ To think I have held my darling’s hand in my own ! I 
have heard her sweet voice ; and all my heart went out to 
her with the directness of instinct ! ” 

And it pleased him to think he had been good to his child, 
and aided her in her struggles against the world, when she 
was to him hut a friendless stranger. But the time for 
misty brooding was over. He must hasten to bring his 
beautiful child into the shelter of his heart and home. He 
entertained not a misgiving as to the possibility of finding 
her; for he rightly divined, that, on leaving Le Hoir, she 
would have returned to her old-time friend, Madame Celes- 
tine. Thither sped Roger Etheridge, his heart full of long- 
ing love. 

Did she know Miss Brandon’s present whereabouts? 

318 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


319 


Most assuredly. Was she not in constant correspondence with 
her dear Esther? and was she not following her old pupiFs 
triumphant march with proud joy and affectionate appre- 
ciation ? Monsieur should have her address, of course. 

Miss Brandon had just completed a series of readings at 
Newport. 

She had won fame and money. She had done more: she 
had carried out, in the smallest particular, the plan of life 
mapped out for herself by herself. 

Once, in bitterness and loneliness, sore and smarting, she 
had sworn that the wise world should yet offer her the 
meed of its valuable respect and homage; and then she 
would show the wise world how she scorned its homage, how 
she spat upon its wisdom. 

The world had offered her its meed of respect and hom- 
age ; and had she scorned it ? 

No : she had learned the true philosophy of life at last, — 
to live, and let live; and she had gracefully received the 
flattering homage of the Newport world on this, the night 
of her last appearance in its midst ; had bowed her fare- 
wells ; and, entering her carriage, had whirled toward her 
hotel apartments, little wotting that her dramatic readings 
for that night were not yet over. 

She entered her private parlor, en route for the sleeping- 
apartments that lay beyond. 

A tall, commanding form rose up from an arm-chair at 
the extreme end of the long parlor ; and Boger Etheridge 
advanced eagerly tow^ard the beautiful woman, who stood 
transfixed with surprise and indignation at this invasion of 
her privacy. 

You do not know me,” said a low, rich voice ; and a thin, 
nervous hand was laid upon Essie’s arm, while a pair of 
hungry eyes scanned her sweet face eagerly, adoringly. 

Is" it, can it he, Mr. Etheridge ? ” she asked slowly and 
incredulously; for, though the rich voice sounded familiar, 
the splendid eyes, so full of soul and feeling, were all un- 
known to her. 

It is ; and, by the help of God, he no longer needs the 
aid of other eyes or other lips to portray this lovely face for 
him.” 

And very lovely did his daughter look in his eyes as she 


320 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


stood there before him, her graceful form draped in a shim- 
mering lilac satin, a trailing white flower fastened to her 
bosom, another in the rich braids of her dark hair, while 
soft falls of rich lace enhanced the dazzling whiteness of her 
neck and arms. 

‘‘ And the letter ? ’’ said Essie eagerly, anxious to give his 
words a less personal tendency. 

I have read it myself, dear child ; and it is that letter 
that brought me here to-night. They tell me you read 
divinely : I have a fancy to hear her letter read by you.’’ . 

But Essie shrank back. “ Oh, no, no, no ! I begged you 
not to let it be profaned by other eyes.” 

You have heard her story and mine ; have you not ? ” 
Yes, sir,” said Essie meekly. 

“ Then, if I tell you that it is for her sake I ask this 
thing of you, will you do it ? ” 

Can any good come of it ? ” 

Incalculable.” 

“ Would she have wished me to see it ? ” 

Most undoubtedly.” 

Then, standing beneath the bright gaslight, Essie took in 
her reverential hands the time-stained letter of the mother 
who she knew must be dead, else she would have come back 
to her lonely child, she had told Philip Walworth, who had 
made the fatal mistake of claiming her as his own. 

She read on until the mystery of her own life lay bare 
before her. Then the yellow sheet fluttered from her nerve- 
less grasp ; and, sinking humbly on the floor by Boger 
Etheridge, she bowed her beautiful head before him, mur- 
muring in a low, glad voice, “ Bless me, my father, and help 
me to thank God for this proud moment, in which he has 
removed far from me the fearful burden of a mother’s 
shame.” 

^^Home to-morrow, quite restored.” Mrs. Somers read 
this telegram aloud to Miss Cally and Frederic as she joined 
them at the breakfast-table on a certain morning two weeks 
after Essie’s last dramatic reading. 

“ Good news indeed ! ” cried Miss Cally enthusiastically ; 
“ and now, since Cousin Roger’s wonderful restoration, 
‘Never say die’ shall be my philosophy.” 

And Frederic expressed his hearty delight at his uncle’s 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


321 


good fortune. Estella alone remained mute : there was noth- 
ing to say. She could not say that she was sorry her 
brother was no longer helplessly dependent on her ; and yet 
that was the main feeling in her heart. 

The telegram was so quiet in its tone, so unsuggestive in 
tenor, that the announcement of the master’s arrival on the 
morrow bore but one result; namely, ordering the sheets 
that were to be put on his bed to be well aired, and sug- 
gesting to Miss Gaily the propriety of making Eoger’s fa- 
vorite desert for dinner. 

The morrow came ; and with it came Roger Etheridge 
and the new-found heiress of the Oaks. 

When the rumbling of the carriage was heard. Miss 
Gaily hastily dusted the flour from her plump white arms ; 
Mrs. Somers calmly laid aside the handkerchief she was 
hemming; and Fred boisterously banged The Gomplete 
Sportsman ” down on the table, — the three moving by one 
impulse toward the veranda to welcome the returned 
traveller. 

From the carriage stepped Roger Etheridge ; then turned, 
and assisted his daughter to alight. 

Very white and still she looked, following her father into 
the presence of these new relatives ; for her womanly heart 
shrank from witnessing the confusion with which her aunt 
was about to be overwhelmed. 

Very white and still Estella Somers looked as father and 
daughter advanced toward her ; and she knew then, as well 
as she was ever to know, that her sin had found her out. 
But she carried it with a brave front. Surely they would 
not abase her before her boy: that was the anguished 
fear of the moment. But there was a coldly determined 
look about Roger’s face that chilled the blood in her throb- 
bing heart. 

Estella,” (how cold and harsh his voice sounded!) “let 
me make known to you your niece, my daughter, Estella 
Etheridge, whose identity, by some fatal mistake on your 
part, was confounded with my wife’s other daughter ; in con- 
sequence of which my child has been deprived through the 
tenderest years of her girlhood of my love and protection. 
A lifetime will not be long enough to atone for the foul 
wrong we all have done her.” 

Then reckless, and maddened by shame and the frustra- 
21 


322 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


tion of all her schemes, Estella Somers threw her last die, — 
threw, and gave up the game. 

^“^That is not your daughter! I charge that woman by 
your side — Esther Brandon, if that he her name — with 
trading upon her marvellous likeness to your dead wife, and 
with fabricating this monstrous lie to rob my son Frederic 
Somers of his rightful inheritance!” Her glittering eyes 
were fixed, glowing with hatred, upon the pale face of her 
niece ; one long, slender finger was pointed at her in scorn- 
ful repudiation ; and her words came hissingly from be- 
tween compressed lips. 

Hold ! ” cried her brother, and do not heap insult upon 
injury until you have read the dying words of the sister- 
in-law toward whom you acted a most treacherous part.” 

Then the anguish of the mother’s heart found utterance : 
“ My boy, my boy, do not listen to them ! Do not believe 
them when they thus assail your mother’s fair name ! ” 

And, clinging convulsively to Frederic’s arm, she strove 
to draw him away from their midst. 

White and motionless, wondering in his honest heart 
what it might all mean, Frederic Somers had stood. But 
now a stern look of resolution came into his face as he 
shook off liis mother’s frantic clasp, and answered her in a 
strangely cold voice : — 

^‘Mother, what all this means I cannot guess: but, when 
your name is assailed, my honor is assailed too ; and, by the 
Eternal ! good cause and just must be shown by any man 
for so doing. But if you have done wrong to any one, my 
mother, then your shame is my shame, your degradation 
mine. 

That letter, sir, — give it to me, please. I think I have 
a right to know its contents ; for, if it concerns my mother, 
it touches me most nearly. May I read it ? ” And he held 
out his hand. 

^^Dear father, no, please !” murmured a pleading voice in 
Boger’s ear. 

My boy,” he began. 

I ask no quarter, uncle. I think I have a right to know 
what this all means. I am no child; and I refuse to be 
treated as such. Once more, may I read that letter?” 

Your mother shall have the' decision of that question ; ” 
and Mr. Etheridge laid his wife’s letter within his sister’s 
hand. 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


823 


Quivering with frightened emotion, she dashed it to the 
ground with a cry of pain. 

Her son stooped, and possessed himself of it. 

“Frederic, Frederic! I conjure, I command you not to 
read that base fraud ! ” Then her stately form shivered and 
swayed ; and into frightened Miss Cally’s arms she fell pale 
and rigid. 

To his own room Frederic proceeded, his handsome face 
wearing an expression of gloomy bitterness altogether for- 
eign to it ; and, before he emerged from his privacy, Estella 
Somers had ceased to be the idol of her boy’s pure soul. 

The day had waned into late evening when he entered 
the library where Mr. Etheridge and his daughter were 
sitting, the latter deprecating in words of tender remon- 
strance the merciless course her father had seen fit to 
pursue. 

“ Pardon me, darling ; but when, in addition to the wrongs 
she had inflicted upon my innocent child, she added the 
charge of imposture, I forgot the promise I had given you, — 
forgot every thing but my own just wrath.” 

“ But poor Frederic, father ! ” 

“ Thank you, sweet cousin, for the gentle pity you ex- 
press for poor Frederic, the pitiful impostor who has been 
enjoying your inheritance while you battled for existence 
in an unfriendly world. This is more than I deserve at 
your hands, my cousin ; and the plea of profound ignorance 
is all the claim I have to your mercy.” 

He was standing before Essie’s chair as he spoke, his 
fine face crimson with shame, his eyes dark with gloom. 

“ Your manly words are claims to my sincerest affection, 
dear innocent cousin ! ” and, rising up from her chair. Miss 
Etheridge offered her sweet lips for a cousinly caress. 

“You are an angel ! ” cried Fred enthusiastically. 

“ Fm nothing of the kind,” said Essie with a bright 
smile. “ I am only a woman, who is so very happy that 
she can find no room in her heart for resentment.” 

“ And now, sweet cousin, once more your pardon ; then a 
farewell kiss.” 

A farewell kiss, Frederic ! ” said father and daughter 
in a breath. 

Yes : it is late in the day ; for Pve been but an idle 
scamp all my life. But Cousin Gaily would tell you it is 
never too late to mend.” 


324 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Where do you go, my boy ? ” 

To work, sir,’’ answered Fred resolutely ; where, I 
know not myself, as yet. Shelter my unhappy mother 
until I procure a home for her, uncle ; and try of your 
great clemency, and out of the full measure of your own 
content, to spare her a share of the pity you so generously 
bestow on me. Tell her I thought best to go without 
bidding her good-by ; for I am not quite sure I could keep 
from adding my reproaches to your well-deserved ones. 
It’s hard lines on a man to have to pity the mother he 
has always thought a saint. She had better have let me 
live and die a beggar than have brought this shame upon 
us both. It was a huge mistake she made ; and may God 
forgive her for it ! — Maybe, if you ask him, he will, sweet 
cousin. Tell her I will come back for her soon, — just as 
soon as I’ve found a place for us both, it matters not how 
poor. I think uncle’s right when he says that a lifetime 
would be too short to atone for the foul wrong we’ve all 
done you.” 

Sternly refusing all offers of assistance from his uncle, 
Frederic Somers heroically turned his back upon the sloth- 
ful life he had led as heir-expectant to his uncle’s immense 
fortune, and bravely took his place in the ranks of the 
laborers in the world’s great workshop. 

When he turned his back on the Oaks, he went as 
straight as steam could carry him into the presence of Mira 
Walworth. 

Poor Fred ! He wanted comfort ; and who else was there 
now to give it him ? 


CHAPTEE XLIX. 

INCONSISTENT CONDUCT. 

Mira darling, Pve come to tell you, that, of all the sen- 
sible things you ever did in your sensible life, the most 
sensible was your refusal to marry me when I begged you 
so hard a while back ; for, in addition to being a loafer all 
my life, it suddenly transpires that I am an impostor and 
a thief/^ 

The honest thief was sitting on the same sofa with his 
gentle fiancee as he made this startling confession ; and 
surely never before was an impostor dealt with after such 
a loving fashion. 

Circumstances had made a loafer of him ; but what com- 
bination of circumstances could make an impostor or a 
thief of her beloved ? So Mira just nestled closer to the 
handsome sinner, flashed a little incredulous smile up into 
his face, and asked quietly, — 

What now, Frederic dear ? ” 

Confession seemed sweet and easy with her so close to 
him, her eyes full of gentle pity, her small mouth drop- 
ping pearls of wisdom every few moments, her loving 
heart dictating words of comfort for his extremity. He 
told her the strange story of his cousin’s restoration to her 
own, suppressing only his mother’s guilty share in the 
wrongs that had been inflicted upon her. For what would 
it profit his pure Mira to know those shameful details ? 

A most absorbed auditor he had in Miss W al worth ; but, 
when he came to tell who this new-found cousin was, — her 
old schoolmate, Esther Brandon! — Mira interrupted him 
with a truly feminine comment : — 


325 


326 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Oh, how romantic ! ’’ 

Well,’^ said Fred bravely, brightening up considerably 
now that Mira didn’t seem to mind much that he was a 
thievish impostor, let’s be sensible, and call it romantic : 
that’s about as good a name as any for it.” 

And I’m so glad dear Essie has fallen upon such 
pleasant places ! ” 

Essie is an angel ! ” exclaimed Fred, persistently main- 
taining the opinion his fair cousin had gainsaid. 

Oh the quick jealousy of a loving woman’s heart ! An- 
other woman would have detected the falling inflection in 
Mira’s sweet voice as she answered, — 

You already love your beautiful cousin, Fred ?” ' 

“ Of course I do. I should be a monster else.” 

“ And you’ll love her better and better every day you 
spend with her,” in a sad little minor. know you will ; 

for I know Essie. Nobody can help loving her.” 

‘M, for one, don’t want to help it,” said Fred stoutly. 

But I expect to see very little of her, or of the Oaks, in 
future.” 

“What do you mean, dear?” And jealousy gave way 
before the anxious fear that Fred was going to run away. 

“ I mean that I am going to work ; and I came here to 
release you from bondage before I settled down to the novel 
undertaking of doing something.” • • 

“You don’t love me any more,” murmured his fiancee in 
a reproachful undertone. 

“ I do : I love you so well, that I don’t want to see you 
marry a beggar.” 

“ But suppose I love that beggar? ” 

“ So much the better for the beggar.” 

“ And suppose I say I don’t want to be released from 
bondage ? ” 

“ Then you shall remain in bondage.” 

“ And suppose I say that my highest ambition on earth 
is to marry a loafer, an impostor, a thief, and a beggar ? ” 

“ Then you shall become Mrs. Frederic Somers just so 
soon as your L. I. T. B. lover has earned enough filthy 
lucre to provide you a home, and himself a suit of wedding- 
clothes. 

“ I am going to find something to do in Chester, Mi darl- 
ing, so I can run out here and imbibe strength and courage 
from your dear eyes.” 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


827 


And he did. Aided by Mr. Walworth’s influence, he 
readily obtained employment in a large mercantile estab- 
lishment as confidential clerk ; the responsibility of his 
post rendering it highly remunerative. 

As soon as he was fairly established in this position, he 
wrote a bravely cheerful letter back to the Oaks, full of 
kindly affection for his uncle and cousin. 

In compliance with this letter, Estella Somers turned her 
back upon the Oaks, and joined her son in Chester. 

A storm of bitter emotion surged up in her passionate 
soul as she was ushered into the plain lodgings, which were 
the best Fred’s limited means could provide; and sink- 
ing upon the hard horse-hair sofa, which formed the most 
luxurious appurtenance of their small sitting-room, she gave 
vent to all the pent-up misery of the past month. 

“Mother,” said Frederic gravely when the first violence 
of her grief had spent itself, “ I am sorry for you : from the 
depths of my soul, I pity you ; for I know that poverty will 
gall your haughty soul to the quick. But, whenever we have 
to deny ourselves any thing (and it’s what we’ll have to do 
pretty often for some time to come, I guess), I think it will 
do us good to bring to mind the many years that my gentle 
cousin, a frail girl, battled with poverty alone against the 
world. What she could bear without repining or failing 
either, I think you and I ought to be equal to.” 

That was all, in the way of reproach, Fstella Somers ever 
heard from her son’s lips. He could not forget that it was 
for love of him she had sinned ; and, though the passion- 
ate adoration he had once bestowed upon her no longer filled 
his soul, he treated her with manly tenderness and gentle 
consideration that knew no change. 

Eepeatedly had Miss Ftheridge, through Miss Cally as 
mediator, extended offers of reconciliation to the aunt who 
had wronged her. She had even persuaded her father to visit 
his sister in her rooms (where she led the life of a cloistered 
nun, awaiting her son’s summons to join him) with words 
of kindness and pardon, and proffers of a home at the Oaks 
if she chose to remain. 

But her stubborn soul refused the olive-branch so lovingly 
extended ; and, when she finally took her departure, even 
her brother’s outraged heart melted into something very 
much akin to pity at her care-worn and joyless aspect. 


328 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Poor Estella ! ” sighed Miss Gaily, wiping a tear of wo- 
manly pity from her bright eyes as she turned from the 
carriage-door. How wretched she does look ! ^ Be virtu- 

ous, and you will be happy,’ is most excellent philosophy.” 

The object of her pity would have scorned such goodish 
philosophy, preferring to indulge in the luxury of woe. 

Thus the whirligig of Time brings around retribution. 

Estella Somers’s new life offered but few attractions ; her 
new duties, performed in not the cheerfulest fashion, consist- 
ing in making one dollar go as far as two, in saving candle- 
ends, and in darning the most unconscionable holes in poor 
Fred’s socks ; while her sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remem- 
bering happier days.” 

Fred’s new life did not bear quite so hardly on him as it 
did upon his haughty mother. 

Every evening or two, after the day’s work was over, he 
might be seen trudging on foot toward the suburbs of the 
town where stood Philip Walworth’s mansion. 

And when the front-door opened quickly in answer to his 
well-known knock, and a loving look of recognition greeted 
him from a pair of well-beloved eyes, and a soft white hand 
drew him quickly into the precincts of the old parlor, and 
Mira’s dear voice spoke his glad welcome, what cared he for 
Time or its revenges ? 

It was upon one of those tri-weekly visits that Mr. Som- 
ers was led to reflect upon the paradoxical nature of a 
woman’s heart. 

And, of a truth, for faithfulness and fickleness, for certain 
uncertainty, for bold coyness, for unselfish selfishness, com- 
mend me to that same organ. 

When Frederic Somers, the heir-expectant to the Oaks, 
had come a- wooing her, Mira Walworth had told him with 
gentle stubbornness that their marriage was an impossibili- 
ty ; and she had brought forward such a formidable array 
of what she pronounced insuperable obstacles, that he had 
been forced to yield the point. But Fred was poor now, 
and needed her ; and, behold ! the insuperable obstacles 
dwindled into utter insignificance. 

When, handsome, and petted of the fashionable world, he 
had been able to choose whom he would, it was but chary 
acknowledgment of her love Fred could win from her coy 
lips ; for, if he knew how very devoted she was to him, he 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


329 


would never look for happiness elsewhere. But penniless 
Bred Somers could not choose whom he would ; and now she 
would not wrong him by withholding the knowledge of the 
fulness of her love. He needed it now to sustain and com- 
fort him. 

Her loving audacity reached its climax one evening when 
Fred came to her, looking more than usually depressed ; for 
the poor fellow had passed a sorry day with his imbittered 
mother. 

“ Fred dear, you are very, very poor now ; aren’t you, 
dearest ? ” 

‘‘ The most prolific imagination could hardly conceive of 
a more poverty-stricken wretch, my darling.” 

You haven’t any thing in the world ? ” 

‘^Nothing but you, my treasure.” 

‘^Hot even enough to buy a wedding-coat ?” 

Not a real broadcloth one.” 

Then, dearest, we’ll have to get married in your old one.” 
And upon the bosom of that old one Mira hid her rosy 
face. 

Mi darling, what do you mean ? ” And Fred lifted 
the sweet face so he could look into her eyes. 

I mean that I want to marry my precious beggar. I 
cannot wait forever, even for a new broadcloth coat ; for 0 
Frederic, my own Frederic ! the days when you stay away 
from me are such dreary blanks ! I only live when you 
come to me, dearest ; and this intermittent life is wearing 
me out. My love, I need you ; I want you. Will you take 
me right now, just as I am, with all my burdens and anxi- 
eties ? Will you come and help me hear those burdens and 
anxieties, Frederic, my all ? As man and wife, will not my 
burdens, and yours too, grow lighter when borne by our 
united shoulders? I think so. And, whether my reasoning 
be sound or not, this I know, — I love .you very dearly, Fred ; 
and I think we’ll both he happier for marrying right now.” 

And Fred took the brave girl at her word. A very quiet 
marriage-ceremony was performed in the library of the old 
house in Chester ; Frederic’s mother being the only person 
present besides the minister and the family physician. A 
very quiet dejeuner followed the ceremony; and, later on in 
the day, Mr. Somers conducted his mother back to her lonely 
lodgings. 


330 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Fred still retains his position as confidential clerk in the 
house of North & Co., whereby he supports his mother and 
himself. 

He says the only thorn in his side is the fact that Mira 
is the affluent wife of a salaried clerk, upon whom she is 
dependent — for nothing. 

‘^Nothing but love and happiness, and all that makes up 
the sum of a woman’s life,” answers Mira Somers. 


CHAPTEE L. 


THE REWARD OF PATIENCE. 

Two quietly peaceful years have passed since the day on 
which Eoger Etheridge brought his beautiful daughter 
home to he the light and the joy of his declining years. 

God’s sunlight falls upon no happier home than the Oaks, 
with its small family of three ; for Miss Gaily, Essie’s first 
friend, and the unconscious instrument of her restoration to 
her own, is an honored inmate of the houshold. 

Her loving admiration of her handsome niece is second 
in intensity only to the father’s fond pride in his daughter. 
Miss Gaily declares that she always felt as if Essie was 
something very near and dear to her from the first moment 
she laid eyes on her ; for blood is thicker than water ” is 
and always has been her philosophy. 

The one break in the gentle monotony of Miss Etheridge’s 
life is the regular reception of bulky letters bearing the 
post-mark of Vienna. 

These letters are long, kindly, interesting letters from 
Alfred Walworth, who has been the accredited minister of 
the United States at that court for a longer period than 
Essie’s residence at the Oaks. 

She had respected her promise of correspondence made in 
the breakfast-room at Belton ; and together had the hus- 
band and wife read her letters, in every line of which 
breathed the sweet, pure, strong nature of the writer. This 
interchange of letters had been kept up uninterruptedly 
ever since. Essie had written to her friend the wonderful 
revelation contained in her mother’s letter simply and with- 

331 


332 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


out comment. Mr. Walworth had returned lier his most fer- 
vent congratulations on the finding of a father and a home, 
earnestly, hut without comment. And, since that time, 
the quiet tenor of their letters had remained unbroken. 

She knew, from the public’s commendation of his states- 
manship, that he had redeemed the promise of his early 
manhood; that the man of magnificent possibilities was 
become a man of massive realities : and in that knowledge 
she rested content. She did not look forward restlessly. Her 
present was so replete with happy content, — good measure, 
pressed down and running over,” — that she could well afibrd 
to let the things of to-morrow take thought for themselves. 

She also maintained a brisk correspondence with her cousin 
in Chester. Only a slight thrill stirred the placid pulses of 
her heart when a black-edged letter, written by Frederic 
Somers, reached her, containing the information of his ‘‘dear 
wife’s bereavement in the death of her noble father.” 
With lugubrious pride, Fred forwarded with his letter a 
newspaper containing a full description of the funereal pomp 
and ceremony with which all Chester had honored the exit of 
Philip Walworth’s sin-stained soul from its tenement of 
clay. A whole column was devoted to resolutions setting 
forth with becoming solemnity the sorrow of the community 
at the loss of its inestimable citizen. Another column was 
dedicated to a categorical summary of the virtues of the 
deceased, and consolatory declarations of his ripeness for 
heaven, his fitness for the reward awaiting the righteous, &c. 

“ It is the way of the world,” murmured Estella Ether- 
idge as she leaned forward and consigned the laudatory 
columns to the flames ; while something very near akin to 
scorn curled the corners of her sweet mouth. 

November, with its wailing winds and naked woods, had 
followed upon the footsteps of an unusually bright October. 
It was the gloaming of one of its saddest days. Miss Eth- 
eridge was the sole occupant of the little room where she 
had first listened to the story of her mother’s exile from 
home, as told by Miss Cally. 

No ghostly shadows now, as then, peopled the alcove, 
Essie’s favorite retreat. The white shrouds had all been 
stripped from the furniture ; and, in the light of the wood- 
fire, the crimson brocatelle chairs and sofas glistened with 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


333 


rich warmth. Fresh damask curtains shaded the windows, 
and draped the arched cornice that divided the recess from 
tlie library. Tasteful pictures, scattered vases of fall flowers, 
a centre-table full of new periodicals, and an open writ- 
ing-desk, all betokened a living and refined occupancy of 
this spot, that had for such weary long years been given 
over to gloom and silence. 

Near the fire, which had been kindled more for cheer 
than warmth, Estella Etheridge — the quickening spirit 
that had wrought all these improvements — was sitting, 
indulging in the bitter-sweet luxury of idle dreaming. 
Her thoughts had wandered far away into the past, linger- 
ing in tender contemplation over what might have been. 
It was not often she allowed fancy to straj'- in that direction : 
there were pitfalls in that by-trodden path, near which 
it was not well to linger ; there, too, were smouldering vol- 
canoes, that a breath from the living present might kindle 
into fierce activity. But she was alone. Her father had 
been summoned to the drawing-room to see a visitor; Miss 
Gaily was busj’’ with her household alfairs ; the lamps were 
not yet lighted ; and not a sound from the present came to 
disturb her dream of the past. 

And, as she dreamed, the light of a love that slept, but 
would not die, came welling up in her tender eyes ; and over 
her full rich lips fluttered a couplet from an exquisite waif 
of poesy khat had touched an answering chord in her own 
impassioned soul : — 

“ Is it a sin to love thee'? 

Then my soul is deeply dyed.” 

A quick, firm tread, an eager parting of the damask 
curtains, a silken rustle, and Essie’s startled upward glance 
fell upon the form and face of Alfred Walworth ! 

Framed upon the threshold of the alcove he stood ; not 
the boyishly handsome, bright-faced Alfred Walworth, the 
impetuous lover of her youth ; not the cold-faced, sneering 
sceptic, Alfred Walworth, that had meted out such tender 
homage to womankind in his later years ; but a bronzed 
and bearded man, calm of voice, dignified of demeanor, in 
whose glorious eyes shone the light of victory. 

A low, glad "cry from Essie’s lips, two white hands 
stretched out in eager welcome, and he was by her side. 


334 


AGAINST THE WORLD. 


Esther, my queen, my own ! I have come to demand 
at your dear hands the reward that surely you will no longer 
refuse to a love so true, so patient, so loyal, as that which 
fills my heart for you, darling. What is existence worth 
if we two remain apart to the bitter end ? My soul cries 
out for something more than friendship can impart. Shall 
it cry in vain, Essie, the idol of my faithful heart ? ’’ 

In the dark uplifted eyes that met his own with a fear- 
less gaze, full of love and trust divine, Alfred Walworth 
read the bright fulfilment of his dearest .earthly hope. 


jrojr MEADY, 



ART RECREATIONS. 


HIS BOOK GIVES INSTRUCTION IN ALL KINDS OF 


Drawing, Painting, and Artistic Work. 


BY 


nytadarae TJrbino, iProTessor IDay, and. others. 


WITH ARTICLES UPON 


Autumn Leaves, Anglo-Japanese Work, Aquariums (how to make). Bo- 
tanical Specimens (to preserve). Bronzing, Bronze Painting, Bronze Stencil- 
ling, To cleanse Cabinet Woi'k, Cabinet Varnish, Chinese Raising, To varnish 
Colored Engravings, Charcoal Drawing, Cone Work, Decalcomanie, Diapha- 
nie. Elements of Drawing, Perspective Drawing, Crayon Drawing, Mono- 
chromatic Drawing, Hints for Designers, Ebony Inlaying, Imitation of 
Enamel Painting, To use Engravings upon Glass, Feather Flowers, Ferneries, 


Flower-Painting on Tinted Paper, do. in Water Colors, Permanent Flower- 
Painting, Gilding Signs, Gilding on Satin, Gilding, Ground-Glass Painting, 
Green Leaves in Water Colors, Imitation of Ground Glass, Heraldic Em- 
blazoning, Hair-Work, Illuminating, Linnaeography, Leather-Work, To make 
Magic Lanterns, Moss- Work, Oil Painting, Oriental Painting, Grecian Paint- 
ing, Panorama Painting, Water-Color Painting, Theorem Painting, Photo- 
graph Painting, Painting in Rice Painting, Sign Painting, Antique Painting, 
Paper Ornaments, Papier-Mache Work, Paper Flowers, Pearling Potichoma- 
nie, Plaster-Work, Rice-Paper Painting, Sea-Weeds, Sealing-Wax Work, 
Sorrento Wood Cutting, Sketching from Nature, Shell-Work, Tamarind-Seed 
Work, Taxidermy, Tracing Paper, Transfer-Paper Making, Transparency 
Making, Transfer on Wood, Wax-Work, — together with as large a number of 
general directions and miscellaneous receipts, which we have no room to enu- 
merate here, and a 


COMPLETE AND BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED TREATISE ON 


SKELETON LEAVES 


AND 


FHAISTTOM FLOWERS. 


It contains upwards of 450 pp. and over 175 Illustrations, and is 
Superbly Printed and Riclily Bound with Gilt and black Side, 


Price $3.00. 


This is a complete treatise, and an easily understood guide. 

“ A book decidedly useful and valuable. IFithout a teacher, you can learn, 
with its easy rules and illustrations, pencil-drawing, charcoal-drawing, crayon- 
drawing, and painting, autumn leaves, oil-painting, Grecian painting. Orien- 
tal painting, antique painting, and in fact all known varieties of drawing and 
painting. Also leather-work, moss-work, feather-work, wax-work, cone-work, 
shell-work, decalcomanie, illumination, heraldry, emblazonry, &c. ; how to 
preserve birds, how to make aquariums, magic lanterns, papier-mache work, 
paper flowers, vases, ferneries, &c. ; in fact, it is a perfect encyclopaedia of all 
that is ornamental and useful.” 

The New- YorJc Observer says of it, — 

“ It tells you how to do every thing in the way of fancy work; how to pre- 
pare the materials, and how to use them afterwards. Parents ought to get 
this book, and encourage the girls to study it. Teachers ought to introduce it 
into school, and teach their pupils the use of these beautiful arts. It will 
gladden many a home, brighten many a dull hour, and give pleasure and profit 
to many an active mind.” 













■ir 



'■ 'J- iffs ? 




fcjk J *1 !' • ’ 

‘‘L. «•-■ > 



■ , . •%■ ' 


il?, M 




w: 


■ Si. i' . ■• . • 



^ ^ / 7 


iV H:-i;'V'l 

*. .'•*/ .x! 




; . V!^ ' 





» . • vu • T. -v n- -^a * • 

♦V : ‘ fc ' '♦ ^ ’’’ . 

m¥‘- * .# /•' . .‘■r:-ii;i5aiir' ^ 





’ If 


* / 


, -.1 


iii...' .;.L? 


>*S 




f 


» f • 

Mir 


. ■ «' 
f V ■'*' ■' 


'V 


\fi 


s 






I 




L\i 





W iilgy/^//'^ ^ ^ c^s;c^\n'^ ^ 


n r\' 


o o'" : 

-r ^ 


w ^ 


^ « 


,v ^ %/‘..v' < 5 '\../°^'»»^'• , 

\ V ^ n ^v ^S ^ ^ ^ ^ 

a"^ "" ^ 



aV '-^rv 

\v '-^ 
\' ■; 






'* ^ iV* <J^ ^ 

3 M 0 ^ « 1 \ 

// C‘ \' ^ > 

' </> \^ - ° < 5 ^ 


i „ 


%. 


'' vQ ^ 




’"OO^ 


c 

-0^ 




c^ 


^ ^ r* s " V 


rw^ o'- 

>• ' 

> [V^ rf- 

^ * .'!l‘ ^ /- 








_„0 





0 ^ 0 N C ^ ^ 

^ O C\'^ ^ ^ < 

^ '^o 0^ r '. •’’a 


^0•' 'o^ • * 

s'-" ',,'^c- " 


'V ° 

r;^ ■i ^ -i 

" 0 , V ^ ^0 



•e,. ^ 

° ^ 

/ s '' \'^ ^ 0 > X 

'^'- ° '. "^A K r J '^a 0^ 

<= 0 o 




«A 

" -0^ 


^0 ^ 

\ > ^ ^ ^ i*' ^ o 


\ ^ 





\?5 

* \^ * - 
^-^■'onO-' j* 

- ,' a ^ * 0 i 


N<. '^-'^"''-''V'' .^'■. OSC, <.^''.. 

'. ■’ °c> c° >'■ ■■ -i- 




CTi 


^ * ' r\^ S *^ ** / 


x> c.^ ‘'O^ -> • ,V’ 



v^ ^0 O' ^ <r 

\V •'> ^ 8 1 T '*' .0 N 0 ■ 

r ft ^ .- ~ fy’ 

^ o aT - ^ 

A» 'V ^ oV * - 

“ C . . ' ' ■ , V/ ” " c 0 ~ 

\ 










